


Sad Beautiful Tragic

by smoakmonster



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff, Angst and Romance, Established Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak, F/M, Fluff, Olicity Drabbles, Olicity Fluff, Speculation, olicity - Freeform, olicity angst, olicity fern, olicity one shots, yep I made the fern a character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-24 16:32:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 24,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2588447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smoakmonster/pseuds/smoakmonster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various Olicity short stories and drabbles. </p><p>Title from Taylor Swift song.</p><p>NEW - CHAPTER 17 - Olicity S6 Fic</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Slade kidnapped her three months ago, Felicity finally comes home, rescued and safe. Only the Felicity the team brings back to Starling City isn’t the same girl Slade took. Set post-season 3 with established Olicity relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first posted fanfiction. The idea had been pestering me since the season 2 finale. Slade's line from 2x09: "Corrupt those he loves" while we get a shot of Felicity was my initial inspiration. Although, this turned out rather differently from what I was expecting. But hey, I just follow the muse.

 

_She ran. She didn’t know where to or for how long, but that wasn’t the point. The point was just to put as much distance between them as humanly possible as fast as possible. She was trapped in the middle of nowhere with no present clue as to how to make a strategic getaway. She wasn’t trained for this. All she knew was primal fight or flight. And she knew she was no match for him. So she ran._

_One second, she was ducking to dodge overgrown branches, the next, she was leaping over a ditch. Bracing for impact, her arm muscles tightened. The jump was further than she’d thought. The fall was hard, and she rolled, feeling the rough ground rub against her. As she rose back up, there was a sharp pang in her left wrist. She clenched her teeth, rubbing the sore spot with a cupped hand. Yep, that was definitely going to leave a bruise._

_The burn in her joints and pounding inside her skull was a sharp contrast to the frosty, stinging air that hit her in the face before being forced into her lungs. She was practically heaving. Yet the feeling was so familiar. She knew this kind of pain. And maybe two weeks ago, it would’ve been enough to slow her down or even halt her sprint altogether. But she was stronger now. She could run through the pain. She could run with the pain._

_And yet the harder she tried, the slower the trees seemed to whip past her. It was like running on a conveyor belt: all energy expended and no distance accomplished. She could feel weakness creeping up on her. What would happen if it swallowed her whole?_

_Shaking her head, she tried one of her own self-inflicted mental games. The kind where she said something she didn’t believe over and over and over again, until she had convinced herself she did believe it. You are not afraid. You are not afraid. You are not afraid—_

A hand pressed to her shoulder, jolting Felicity awake. She rubbed her eyes, taking in her surroundings as reality washed over her, her muddied dream fading. Or was it a memory? She couldn’t tell anymore. She was sitting outside Verdant in the passenger seat of the town car. She’d asked John to take her here first on the way back home from the airport.

“You know you don’t have to do this right now, Felicity,” said John.

“Yeah, I do.”

 

—x—x—

 

The foundry was the same but different. Everything remained in its proper place, all the monitors and equipment exactly as she’d left them. And yet it was so…foreign. Had it always been this bright down here?

She skimmed her fingers across the keyboard keys, the simple, mechanical, tactile act felt so comforting. She’d touched a lot of keys in her day, but these were special. How bizarre that something so cold, so technical could instantly reconnect to those feelings that felt like a lifetime ago.

Felicity slowly sat down in her old chair, testing it out. When the cushions pressed against her skin, memories of nights down here came flooding back. All good memories. Nothing tainted, nothing diminished. So many great things had happened while she had sat in this chair. Rescue missions and take downs. Life after life being saved. Oliver’s first apology to her. The first time he said he loved her over the comms.

She felt her lips twitch with the beginnings of a smile. It was funny how frightened she once had felt sitting in this chair, waiting for her boys to come home safely. How many times had she subconsciously wondered if _this_ was the mission where he didn’t come home? Those fears seemed silly now, compared to everything else.

The door upstairs opened, and she heard his tactful footsteps. He took his time, each heavy step causing her heart to accelerate even faster. When he finally reached the bottom, he stopped. No doubt he viewed her as some frightened creature, afraid to approach too quickly for fear of scaring her off. If only he knew she had learned not to scare so easily.

For a long time, neither of them moved or said anything. She could almost feel his tight breathing from across the room. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t believe he was really here. She wouldn’t turn to look at him, only to wake up from the dream and realize it was all in her head after all. Not again. She’d been disappointed too many times.

He took a step forward. And then another. And another. Careful, calculated steps that echoed off the basement walls.

Finally, she brought herself to turn slightly in her chair, craning her neck to fully see him. She did a quick scan from his thick shoes, passed his casual t-shirt, all the way up to his face. His features were the same, but his overall look was so worn. What had these past few months done to him? Had he even slept once during the entire time? When she finally met his eyes completely, his expression changed. 

He looked at her like he was watching her come back to life right before his eyes, and Felicity was confused. She thought she knew all the faces Oliver could make. She knew his Arrow face all too well. She knew the face he made when he was angry and trying not to punch something. She knew the face when he was fighting to keep from laughing. She knew his broken face. And she knew his I’m-about-to-kiss-you face. But this…this was something else entirely. Some strange combination of all of them. Sorrow and relief. Joy and anger. A new face. Or had she forgotten him already? 

Before she was even aware of what she was doing, she pushed the chair back and stood. She seemed to be acting on some old instinct. And the next thing she knew, she was in his arms and he was holding her. He was warm and familiar and strong and wonderful. As she pressed herself more deeply to his body, she felt his grip tighten, not roughly but more securely. Like he was afraid that giving even an inch would make her vanish. To be honest, she felt the same.

Oliver had never exactly been a hugger. She initiated the majority of the hugs in their relationship. But this one was all him. And he didn’t seem to want to let go anytime soon, rubbing his arms up and down her back, soothing her all the way to her core. And so she let him just hold her, relishing the safety she always felt in his presence. When she felt his chin rest atop her head, she relaxed even further in the calm familiarity of the posture. 

"Let’s go home," he breathed. She was on the verge of tears, so all she could do was nod into his chest. Oliver seemed to get the idea, so he pulled back, but only just enough to turn their bodies toward the stairs. He kept a supportive arm around her the whole way to the car, opening the door for her and lingering until she started to buckle her seat belt. It was only then that he released his grip on her hand. It took him less than five seconds to walk around to the driver’s side, but even that time of separation seemed too long. As soon as he was in his seat, he grasped her hand again, and it was nice. It was more than nice. It was home.

 

—x—x—

 

Her apartment felt hollow. Felicity had expected this place, of all spaces, to be the one that made her feel most like herself again. Instead, she felt more like a stranger or a distant cousin staying the night. Everything was hers, yes, but nothing in this living room  _felt_  like her. The furniture was too eclectic. The walls held too much color, too much vibrancy. Even her favorite books and movies, arranged with so much care and detail—it was all so…not her.

She remembered being the person who chose all these things, and at the time they were all the right decisions. But now…nothing felt right.

Except him. He always felt right. As he stood silently next to her, she could feel his eyes on her back, watching her take it all in. She moved to take off her coat, pulling back the sleeves. A strong hand suddenly rested on her shoulder, and reflexively she darted out from under it.

Her body had acted first, but as soon as her mind caught up, she cringed, realizing the error. She wanted to walk away or start over or…something. Something other than this guilt suddenly bubbling inside her. She shrugged the sleeves off, letting the jacket fall down her arms.

Then, turning slowly, she handed it over to his waiting hand. She couldn’t even look at him as their fingers brushed. Why had she darted away from his touch? She knew him. His signature was pressing his palm to her shoulder. She knew that. So why had she acted like…like it was someone else? So many dark thoughts started ricocheting off each other, and she couldn’t seem to escape them, no matter how hard she tried—

“Hey.”

That one, gentle word was all it took to still her—and for the first time in months, her mind went blank, relief washing over her. She had forgotten he had the power to do that, to make her stop overthinking, to ease her mind. She dared to raise her eyes back up to his. There was no pity there, only concern. No fear. No anger. Just trust. And love. Had she really expected anything different from him?

He came closer to her, almost hesitantly. Still, she felt the mere foot was too far. She swallowed, pulling her arms in tightly around her torso, wanting to explain, but not even remotely knowing what words would suffice. “Oliver….”

“Hey, don’t…” he interrupted her, closing the distance between them. He gasped her upper arms and ran his thumbs back and forth soothingly. He sighed before continuing. “You’ve been through a lot. And you just got back. Don’t…don’t feel like you have to pick up exactly where we left off. Because you don’t. It took me months to…adjust. I’m still adjusting.” He let out one of his classic sigh-laughs, though there was no humor in his voice. “So just take your time.”

She bobbed her head, her lip wobbling as the emotions starting rising to the brim again. Managing the pain was becoming more challenging now that her apathetic barriers had been removed. Now that normal conversations were possible once again. She felt more unstable now than she had in the foundry. Maybe it would be better to just stay there for a while….

“Do you want anything to eat?” Oliver suddenly asked.

“Hmm?” she replied, being yanked back out of the barricade she had created for herself. She was beginning to realize she didn’t really need that mental firewall anymore, did she? She could actually listen to people again. Maybe even believe what they said. When her mind suddenly remembered what he’d said, she shook her head. She doubted she’d be hungry for a while.

Oliver just nodded gently, seeming to understand more of what was happening with her than she did. He gave her arms a final rub, before gradually dropping them. “I’m here if you need anything.”

She didn’t reply. And the silence hung between them. Neither of them made a move, until Oliver finally said, “Night.” And with another soft look, he turned to go.

Her hand reacted instantly, grabbing his arm. He twisted back, frowning at her. And she found herself asking hoarsely, “Where are you going?” Despite the hoarseness, the sound was projected stronger than she’d meant it to be. She realized other than whispering his name, these were her first words to him since she’d come back.

He looked as confused as she felt. “I thought…” he began, and then stopped, seeming unsure of how to continue. He tried again, even more gently than before. “I thought you might want to be alone. I’ll be right outside on the couch.”

Something akin to horror starting pouring down her body, drowning her from the inside out. No. He couldn’t leave her alone. Not in the dark. Not now. Not when she needed him.

She tried to appear more casual than she really felt. “No, stay with me,” she said, hoping her voice really wasn’t as pleading and desperate as it sounded to her. For some reason, it was important to her that Oliver know she could be brave, that she _was_ brave. She could hide the agony from him. At least until tomorrow. 

The brief shift behind his eyes told her he was probably onto her. But he didn’t say anything. And he didn’t pull away. 

Screw casual. ”Please, Oliver,” she practically croaked at him. Was that how her voice was going to sound from now on? Raw and miserable?

And then he did that crinkle thing with his eyebrows, and she knew he’d stay.

He walked her to her room, watching her every move, hovering, though she could tell he didn’t mean to. He opened the dresser for her, even helping her pick a shirt to wear, because apparently (after minutes of blank staring at her clothes and not moving) she was having trouble performing such an arbitrary task. When she started changing into her pajamas, he turned his head but didn’t indicate an attempt to leave. Present but not present. Typical Oliver. She might have rolled her eyes…if she hadn’t just returned from hell.

Felicity thought she was doing pretty well, mentally preparing herself for when they’d have to turn off the light. Everything was going to be fine. It was. She was home. He was here. She was safe.  _She was safe. She was safe. She was safe_. Maybe if she chanted this to herself enough, she’d finally believe it again.

All was well, until she started to pull off her grungy shirt. She let out a cry of pain from muscles stretching and fabric rubbing against her wounds. She’d almost forgotten about that.

Oliver suddenly invaded her personal space, halting her movements with his hands, as his eyes silently asked for her permission to help. She blinked her approval.

Gently but firmly, he helped her undress and redress for bed. He moved fast, swiping her shirt up and off, so she didn’t have to feel pain longer than was necessary. When she was half naked before him, her arms and stomach exposed, she saw his gaze shift as he examined her.

Her bruises and lacerations were minor compared to his scars, but she could tell seeing her like this pained him. Still, he said very little, only took each arm in turn, rubbing his fingers along her skin, pressing certain points and asking, “Does it hurt here?” She shook her head each time, except for when he got to the newest bruise near her wrist, the one from her recent fall. She’d only had to grimace, and he understood.

Oliver ran his eyes up and down her body twice, observing her with a detached, medical eye, completely void of attraction. She was both grateful and offended.

After assisting her with her clothes, Oliver helped her into bed and tucked her in. As the covers came over her shoulders, a sudden memory flashed, and she shivered. Slade was speaking, whispering into her mind.  _"Is this how it feels when he tucks you in, when his hands run against your skin, his breath in your ear?"_

Felicity felt those rough, slimy hands run down her throat, and she flinched involuntarily, pulling away from Oliver’s touch. She blinked, her spinning thoughts discharging, as her mind slowly reminded her that this _was_ reality. 

He looked hurt when she pulled away this time, but again he didn’t respond. He simply ran his hand through her hair and gave her hand a brief squeeze before trudging around to the other side of the bed. She pressed her head into her pillow, listening as Oliver dropped one shoe…and then the other. She waited for the sounds of clothing coming off, but instead she heard Oliver lift the covers and lie down behind her. 

He didn’t press close, and she didn’t ask him to. Just hearing his steady breathing was already working wonders on her nerves. She tried mimicking his breathing pattern, but his breathes were naturally deeper than hers, so it took more effort than it was probably worth. Still, she felt herself drifting quickly, falling back into the pattern of their ways.

 

—x—x—

 

She woke up screaming, flailing, hitting anything she could to fight the infestation infecting her being.

When she felt his hands grab her, she fought harder, fiercer. No. She wouldn’t get pulled back into his world. She elbowed him, and he groaned but didn’t release her. She was about try again—

“Felicity. Felicity wake up.”

She ceased struggling, stilling in his arms. She knew that voice. Oh god. Had she hurt him?  Her heart pounded in her throat. When she felt his grip loosen, she started to move to the other side of the bed, but he must have anticipated that, because he pulled her back to his chest.

“No, get away from me,” she pleaded, squirming.

But he didn’t give in. And he was stronger, so eventually she stopped waging war and let him pull her into a tighter hold. “What are you doing?” he whispered, breathing heavily. “You never once pushed me away, so there’s no way in hell I’m pushing you away. You got it? I’m staying. I’m here.”

And she lost it. All those weeks and weeks of wanting to cry and not being able to, forcing strength upon herself, telling herself to get through just  _one more day_ ,  _one more day_ ,  _one more_ …

She sobbed and wept and screamed and made sounds she didn’t have names for. All the while cradled in his arms. But no matter what she did, his grip never wavered. He just soothed her. “Hey hey hey. It’s ok. It’s ok, baby. You’re safe. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

He kissed her forehead. Felicity whimpered, realizing it was the first kiss he’d given her since she’d gotten back. She seemed to be counting a lot of firsts today. Like she was starting over.

She clung to his soaked shirt in the silence, as the last of her cries retarded and then faded altogether. He said nothing. He didn’t need to. She was more thankful than ever for his strength.

Finally, she felt calm enough to tell him. “He killed you,” she whispered in a ragged voice. Clearing her throat, she continued. “In my head. He killed you.”

She paused, but he didn’t answer. So she kept going. “I-I did everything he asked. I hacked every database he told me to. And it still wasn’t enough. He killed you anyway. I tried to stop him. But…but I wasn’t fast enough—” She burst into uncontrollable tears again.

“Sh sh sh. It’s ok. You don’t have to worry about him. He can’t get to you ever again.”

When she could speak, she said, “You don’t know that.”

He was quick and firm in his rebuttal. “Yes I do. I won’t let him hurt you. I promise.” He kissed her head again. “You trust me?”

She just nodded into his chest, pulling at his shirt desperately. He didn’t seem to care, but she felt kind of bad for making a spectacle. Except it felt so good to just let it all out and know he wouldn’t think any less of her for it. So she told him everything.

“I can’t get him out of my head,” she cried after a while. “At first I thought I could, that I could be strong. Just until you found me. But he gave me something. Some kind of drug. It warped my memories and made all my thoughts go dark and  _wrong_. Every time I thought about you, I’d see you but then it wouldn’t be you. And every time I tried to escape, he was there. So I figured if I was going to lose my mind, I didn’t want to lose my heart. So then it was better not to think of you at all. At least then I was protecting the part of you I really needed.”

He brushed her hair with his hands, relaxing her bit by bit with each stroke. “It hurts so much, Oliver. How do you make it stop?” she croaked.

He hesitated. And she felt awful to make him resurface thoughts he’d learned to put away so meticulously. “You don’t,” he finally uttered to the ceiling with a heavy tone of finality, which she hadn’t expected. So there was no hope, was there? She was stuck in this limbo of existence.

As if reading her thoughts, he continued, “Don’t try to make yourself be the person you were before. You can’t. You can’t undo it. But eventually you can find a place where you feel whole again. It’s just the new you.”

She wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that. What if the new her was something terrible, something she couldn’t control?

But something else gnawed at her, a question deep in her bones begging to be asked. “Is this what it was like for you?” she whispered. “All this darkness? Oliver, I feel like I’m suffocating.”

He didn’t answer for an uncomfortably long time. “I know.”

She expected him to leave it at that, but he surprised her. “You try to hide from the pain. You convince yourself it’s not there. Or you learn to live with it, to control it, to even use it as a weapon.” He paused to take a deep breath. When he continued, his voice changed. His tenor was softer, even hopeful. “But then, you find something or  _someone_ who you’re more afraid to lose. And that fear takes over. It’s bigger than anything. It overcomes all the other fears swallowing you, and it changes you. And suddenly, you’re willing to do whatever it takes to keep that person safe, even face the demons that have been chasing you for so long.”

Felicity swallowed, on the verge of tears again, but this time for an entirely different reason.

“I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours. I never did before.” He sighed a laugh. “But I do know what it’s like wondering what you could’ve done differently. Wondering how you survived or why you survived. Sometimes you just have to accept things and be happy to be alive. I know I am.”

It was strange, hearing Oliver say more in a minute than he used to during entire conversations. She was the talker in their relationship too. It seemed tonight was full of reversals.

There were parts of Oliver that she knew she could never understand, not entirely. And she had accepted that. She could still love him completely. While he had his fears and the guilt his stubborn heart insisted on carrying, she had always hoped, at least, she could be completely honest with him. Her life for the most part had been rather uncomplicated. Even after she joined the team, the jump from techie to Team Arrow hadn’t been that much of a challenge. She had always felt like the same person, even as she lied to coworkers and the cops to protect her friend. Because that’s what best friends did for each other. They protected one another.

But now…it seemed her heart was an abyss, confused and very complicated. Everything she used to not be. Were there parts of  _her_  now that even Oliver could never understand? He might know the pain, and he might know the problem, but he would never really  _know_. Because for the first time in her life, Felicity had no idea how to explain. For the first time in her life, she understood why people kept secrets from the ones they loved.

“Oliver?” she asked the dark room.

“Hmm?”

“It’s so cold,” she said.

He pulled the covers up to her chin and tucked her body into his, rubbing her, gently and methodically creating friction up and down her arms. He was extremely warm, yes, so she relished the comfort. But still she felt cold, not on the surface of her skin, but deep in the core of her being. A coldness that was indefinable and almost inconsolable.

But Oliver seemed to understand even that, because the last thing she heard before falling back into sleep was his deep exhale. “I know.”

 

—x—x—

 

“How did you get past the island?” she burst out of nowhere one day. They had been hanging out in the foundry, eating Chinese. Felicity was running some software updates, while Oliver had been testing out a new bow string.

He didn’t answer at first, so she wondered if he’d even heard her. Finally, when she was sure he was  _not_  going to respond (she’d re-immersed herself in reading up on the program), he said, “I found a new moment to define me.”

She stopped typing and turned to look at his serious and blank expression. “How did you do that?” she asked.

“I didn’t,” he said immediately. “It just sort of…happened.” There was an indefinable humor in his eyes and a smile playing at his lips, like he was remembering his own personal inside joke. And when he looked at her again, she felt ticklish. It was the first time he’d looked at her like this since…before.

He stepped close to her, serious again. “I wasn’t looking to get past the island. I had accepted my fate. But then I met someone who changed everything.”

“So I should just accept who I am now until some redefining moment hits me in the face?” she answered, crossing her arms.

“Felicity, you decide who you are. Not me. Not anyone.” He placed a hand on her shoulder, instantly consoling her. “You can try to be the old you entirely, and that’s fine. But you may come to realize you don’t actually _want_ to be the old you anymore.”

She frowned, unsure how that could be. Of course she wanted to be old Felicity, less complicated Felicity, with no fear of the dark and no nightmares and no strained reflexes.

“The point is I’m not going to force you to do or be anything you don’t want to. I just want you with me.” He gave her a pointed look for emphasis.

Felicity rubbed her lips as she pondered his words. He watched her with interest, waiting for her to say something. Finally, she raised her eyebrows playfully, something that felt bizarrely familiar. “Wow, Mr. Queen. That was actually rather inspiring.”

His lips twitched at that, and then he just shrugged. “I have my moments.”

She smiled. “Yes, you do.”

 

—x—x—

 

About a week later, she startled him again with a random, philosophical outburst. He had been leaning in closely, reaching over her body to touch the screen, when she felt the zap of charge between them. If he experienced it too, he gave no indication. But then, Oliver had always been more gifted at ignoring his feelings.

He was in the middle of asking her an Arrow-related question, when she was suddenly drawn to his lips. When he called her name in his sing-song fashion, she started, realizing he was looking at her expectantly. Had he asked her something important? She honestly didn’t know. Felicity hesitated before asking him directly: “Oliver, are you ever going to kiss me again?”

That took him by surprise. She felt her heart doing a little victory dance at the fact that she could still draw that kind of a reaction out of him. After a moment, he dropped his guard and tilted his head. “What’s this about, Felicity?”

She shook her head, feeling a little flustered. “Nothing, just… You know, since I got back, you haven’t…we-we haven’t….” She didn’t really know how to finish that sentence out loud. Thinking it was awkward enough.

But he understood, and his entire countenance softened. “Felicity, I didn’t…”

“I know, I know,” she interrupted. “You don’t like to rush—I mean, you would never rush me—that’s not better.” He laughed at that, and she shut her eyes, pushing up her glasses. “You just don’t generally rush towards anything in general. Unless it’s danger. If the  _two_ years I had to wait to even have dinner with you are anything to go by—although I guess I didn’t really even think about it until I became part of the team, so it was more like a year and a half, and—”

“Felicity.”

“Hmm? Oh right. I was rambling?”

He nodded.

She smiled, strangely pleased. “I haven’t done that in…a while. I forgot how nice it is to talk.”

“I’ve missed hearing you talk.”

“Really? Even my ridiculous blunders?”

He smiled warmly. “Especially those.”

 

—x—x—

 

Exactly thirty days since coming home, Felicity had a second nightmare where she watched Oliver die. When she woke, she practically threw herself into his waiting arms. He rocked her soothingly, running his fingers through her hair again.

“I can’t get him out of my head, Oliver,” she cried. “Everything I do, everything I think, I just…he’s  _there_. I remember everything. Oliver, I remember what professors in college wore to every class, I remember all the things in the house my dad touched the day he left, I remember what you were wearing and what you smelled like and _everything_ about that night at the hospital… I don’t forget, Oliver. I remember. It’s who I am. But this…I don’t want to remember. It hurts too much.”

“I know. I know.” He was patient and gentle and the perfect comforter, but Felicity desperately wanted more. She needed more.

Oliver wouldn’t make a move, so she instigated it, yanking on his collar and pulling his lips down to hers. He was surprised, so he hesitated. But then he was kissing her back, just as desperate as she felt. Oliver took over in no time, and she let him lead, let him pull her shirt over head, let him press himself close and their bodies into the mattress.

And it was working…she could forget almost everything else when they were like this. Like she had never left. It was the old Felicity and Oliver, as happy as they had been. And as she kissed him and loved him, she gave herself away to the dream of pretending to be her old self.

It was only after…in the morning, with his warm hands still resting against her skin, that haunting truth crept up her spine and woke her with a shock. And she knew then. She wasn’t running from  _him_ anymore. She was outrunning a much darker reality: herself. The old Felicity was just a ghost, a mirage, a figment of a life from another universe. The woman now, the woman that lay in Oliver Queen’s arms, was a frayed creature, someone else entirely. She didn’t feel whole anymore.

Felicity slid out of his warm embrace, slipping on a robe. At the door she turned, feeling a spark of her old self come back as she smiled at Oliver’s sleeping form in her bed.  _Had Slade succeeded?_  she wondered. Oliver and the team thought he had taken her to get to Oliver. And that was partly true. But she knew something no one else did, something deeper and darker and more frightening than anything Slade could do to Oliver.

Slade had never planned on keeping her. Now that she was free of his mind control, she understood. He had wanted her for her. And he let her go. Because he thought he’d finally achieved something he couldn’t before: corruption. He’d wanted her mind, and he’d wanted to twist her so much, that she wouldn’t resemble the girl she had been before. He’d tried to warp her thoughts of Oliver to make her fear being with the man she loved.

And now, she couldn’t tell if Slade had accomplished his goal or not. Her gut response was  _no_. She was still the same girl. A little shaken, a little more on edge, but those fears that hadn’t been there before would surely fade with time and with Oliver here to help. Wouldn’t they?

She licked her lips. It felt worse knowing Oliver must have endured the same when he’d returned. Had his mother and Thea held him and comforted him when he’d come home? They must have. How else had he survived? 

Oliver never talked about the transition back. He had always talked about the island as a past tense, single event. It was. It changed him. It was over. But what Oliver had failed to mention, perhaps because she hardly understood it herself, was that the simple act of being away from the people you love changed you in ways you couldn’t exactly put into words. It’s like half of who you are goes missing. But when you come home, the half that you have become is so different from the other half, it’s impossible to see how the fragments of your soul could be one again.

Oliver never told her that coming home didn’t save you from isolation. If anything, it made you feel more isolated. He said once that getting passed the island meant finding a new moment to define you. Apparently, she had been his redefining moment. And he had certainly changed her life in ways that were obvious and in ways she couldn’t explain, in ways that were less tangible. The Arrow and fighting criminals on a nightly basis was obvious. But this…his sleeping in her room like there wasn’t a world outside that needed saving—that affected her too. Was this how Oliver was before the island? Everyone looked the same when they slept, didn’t they?

Maybe this was her moment. Maybe he could help her find her way to new normalcy.

So instead of running, Felicity swallowed and walked straight into her greatest fear. She knew this kind of pain. And maybe three months ago, it would’ve been enough to stop her. But she was stronger now, so she knew how to live with greater pain than she’d imagined possible. And while every primal instinct she’d acquired told her to flee, she welcomed the discomfort. Disrobing, she lifted the blankets and tucked herself back in next to him.

Sleepily, Oliver pulled her body closer to him. And she smiled. Even subconsciously, he was protecting her. It was as natural as breathing to him, the deepest instinct of them all. Breathing trumped fear. Because one couldn’t control breathing. Sure, you could fight it—you could hold your breath. But in the end, the body would always fight back on a level no one had power to resist.

For Oliver, protecting her was like breathing. She knew that. But now, Felicity realized she craved it. She  _needed_  him now in a way she hadn’t before—not to protect her from enemies on the street, but from the demons in her mind. So she let him hold her and let herself savor how soothing it was to be back in his embrace like this.

When Oliver woke, he looked at her like she was still his Felicity, giving her an easy smile like it was any other Saturday morning. And then he kissed her like it was the first time. They lay together—Felicity’s head resting on his chest, Oliver’s hands stroking up and down her back—for what seemed like hours, not speaking, not needing to speak. Just being.

For the first time in months, Felicity’s memories didn’t spiral down an endless black hole. Her thoughts today weren’t poisoned by lies. She could look at Oliver without fear, and her mind felt lighter and free. That night, when they came back home after an evening of saving the city, he kissed her first. And she realized an entire day had passed where she hadn’t needed to chant false beliefs to herself. She had simply lived as part of the team, talking into the comms and fingers flying over keys like the old days.

Weeks passed, and she felt more like old Felicity than ever.

Months later, the day after Oliver Queen asked her to marry him, she had another nightmare. It had been so long since those dark thoughts had plagued her, she didn’t realize it was happening at first. When she woke trembling in hysterics, he was there. He was there every time. Even when she accidently struck him after another  _incident_ —she stopped calling them nightmares; it was easier that way—he didn’t pull away. He never mentioned it, never held it against her, like it had never even happened.

And that’s when Felicity  _knew_  Slade hadn’t won and never would win. Because being with Oliver trumped any fear she had of unintentionally scaring him off. No matter which version of herself she was now. Slade’s plan had backfired, because what was supposed to rip them apart brought them closer together in the end. They never really spoke about it. Once in awhile, when he could sense something was off, Oliver would ask “You okay?” in that gentle tone of his, reserved especially for her. She would just nod. And when that didn’t convince him (it rarely did), she would verbalize it. “I’m fine, Oliver. I promise.” He always breathed easier after that.

He seemed to understand her on a deeper level now, and she didn’t argue with him as much when he was in Arrow mode. She trusted him completely. She knew the unspoken truth held between them: neither of them was going anywhere. Felicity Smoak was the voice in his head as the Arrow, telling him to save the life, urging him to come home; and Oliver Queen was the voice in her head, the only sound louder than the fears, as he promised her forever, assuring her that she was already home.

On their first anniversary, Felicity wondered for the last time about the magnitude of the kidnapping’s impact on her life. She had been qualifying her life as “before Slade” and “after Slade.” But now, when Oliver took her left hand and kissed her knuckle above her wedding ring, she realized she couldn’t remember the last time she had thought about life that way.

Oliver had said to overcome tragedy, you had to find a new, redefining moment, stronger than the first one. He said he hadn’t been looking for his. For so long, though, Felicity had. She’d been desperate to forget Slade. And then one day, she hadn’t. Now, she honestly couldn’t recall how it happened, how it had started or  _what_  had even initiated the process. The girl who never forget suddenly could not remember, but she had a feeling she owed a lot of it to Oliver.

They had transitioned relatively easily into married life. So many routines had already been set in place, so many secrets already revealed. And yet there was just something about being married that set them apart from their previous separate, though connected, lives before. Now they were a pretzel. Sometimes Felicity didn’t know where she ended and Oliver began.

So when he smiled lovingly at her, she smiled happily back. Apparently, her redefining moment had already happened. And this new Felicity was nothing like she’d expected. She was better. Because she was with him. They were always their best selves together. 

 


	2. The Fern Diaires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Olicity Fern's POV. Ep 3x01 to 3x09.

_Inspired by[this](http://oneblogtwofangirls.tumblr.com/post/105239037714/part-ii-of-the-anti-studying-fan-fiction)._

 

**Day 1**

A smiling lady with glasses and a bouncing ponytail bought me today. I still can hardly believe it. Even with all my brighter cousins sitting on the shelf in front, she still reached to the very back row and chose me faster than you can say “sporophyte”! Smiling and petting my leaves, she talked to me the whole time we were in the checkout line, babbling on and on about someone called “Oliver.” She’s sweet. I like her. I’m glad she’s going to be my mom.

**Day 2**

Mom introduced me to this “Oliver” today. I’m not sure what to make of someone who’s so obviously trying to be a fern and failing miserably. But she clearly likes him and he likes her—though who wouldn’t. I may “thrive in low light,” Mom, but with your smiles at each other, I don’t think I need additional fluorescence. 

**Day 11**

Mom and Dad have not been getting along since the “incident.” Especially after that woman in black was brought down here, Mom just hasn’t been the same. I miss her smiles. If only Dad knew how much more she cries when he’s not around.

**Day 29**

An angry computer thing is making Mom very unhappy right now! Wait, do I have a grandmother? When do I get to meet her? Wait, Mom, where are you going…Mom…Mom? Don’t leave me alone with moping Dad! Not again!

**Day 30**

Today was the first time Dad has acknowledged my presence in weeks. He really needs to stop letting Mom walk away from him like that. But hey, at least we had some parent-child bonding time as he watered me, though usually the macho man gives me extra. I know, Dad. I hear ya. I love her, too.

**Day 43**

WHO IS THIS HOME-WRECKER WHO THINKS SHE’S MY DADDY’S LOVER?? Mom’s been on the verge of tears all night, though how Dad can stay away when she’s dressed like  _that_  is beyond me. Also, I think Dad should really start to listen to the macho man who waters me. He’s very smart, and whenever he gives my dad advice, good things happen with my parents, of which I approve. 

WHAT THE CRAP, DAD?!?! WHY YOU THROWING STUFF AT ME NOW? …Oh, you got angry face. I take it the talk with Mom didn’t go so well. I swear, I may not have met this “Ray” figure, but I suspect he is to blame for several of my parental predicaments.

**Day 57**

Will someone please tell me why we’re allowing all of these uninvited—and particularly  _fast_ —guests into our home?

WOAH WOAH WOAH HEY! WATCH WHERE YOU’RE SHOOTING, DUDE! CAN’T YOU SEE I’M RIGHT HERE! YES, ALRIGHT GO MOM!! YOU TAKE THAT SUCKER OUT! AIN’T NOBODY MESSING WITH MY MAMA.

Also, I wanted Mommy to tell the story about the landmines. If she’d managed to look over to my own little corner, she would have seen my attempt at waving my blades. Daddy should have made her tell the story, since he clearly wanted to hear it. Maybe next time…

**Day 68**

Mom came home today, weeping, and as soon as she saw me, she just grabbed me and planted herself in the corner of the room, with me in her arms. She’s been holding me for hours. She won’t stop breathing Dad’s name as she pets my leaves. I wish I knew how to help her. With every whimper, I can feel myself wilting. I fear whatever’s happened to Dad will prevent her from smiling ever again.

 


	3. The Fern Diaires: Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Olicity Fern POV, roughly from 3x11 to right before 3x13.

**Day 103**

All quiet on the home front. It’s been weeks, but I still remember the droop in Mom’s shoulders as she walked up the stairs and out of my life. She didn’t even say goodbye—just breathed the words “I’m done”—before shutting off the overhead beams helping keep me alive. With both my parents long gone, I suppose this now means I’m an orphan?

**Day 111**

Somebody just rip up my roots and put me out of my misery. A few days ago, I declared strike. Yet every time I so much as settle for sassafras shrugging, the macho man takes this as his cue to feed me. No no, den father, oh…kay I concede that tap water minerals are refreshing. Well, if you’re going to continue bothering to nurture the mascot, how about including me in team decisions?

**Day 112**

The new girl touched me today. At first, I found this invasion of privacy extremely revolting, but I’d forgotten how nice it was to be petted. She has surprisingly gentle fingers and even offered me a kind smile. Thus, I found the act pleasantly acceptable. I suppose I’m desperate enough to take what little affection I am given.

MOMMY YOU’RE BACK!!! IS IT JUST ME OR DID THE ROOM GET 1000 KILOWATTS BRIGHTER? I can already feel my chlorophyll dancing. I would so hug your right now, but this metal corset is kind of rendering any mobility impossible.

**Day 118**

INTRUDER ALERT. INTRUDER ALERT. IN-TRUUUU-DEEERRR. Could someone please explain to me why we’re allowing court jester killer back into our inner sanctum? Apparently Mom and I are the only ones containing common sense soil around here.

**Day 119**

HOLY. CROZIER. DADDY IS HOME!!!!! Look at my parents hugging each other. Cue the waterworks—wait, what is happening? You two can’t go  _five seconds_  without fighting? Oh oh, Dad just chased after her. Repeat. Dad. Is. Following. Mom. This is not a test. The only person I’ve seen take the stairs faster than that was the skinny red bolt kid.

**Day 124**

Operation Venus Flytrap is officially underway. Commence Phase I: get Mom to smile at Dad again. Problem? Dad is currently not doing himself any favors in  _that_ department. If they permanently separate, what happens to me? Shared custody? I only get to see Mom on the weekends? There’s only so much a little frond can bear. I am not cut out for this. The most complicated decisions I make on a regular basis include evening axis yoga and whether to photosynthesize  _now_ or  _later_. In essence, the whole family could do with a healthy dose of miracle grow. 


	4. Five Times He Holds Her Hand (One Time She Squeezes Back)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Established Olicity. This one is just a rollercoaster of emotions. I promise I had every intention to make this a purely fluff story, but then it just kind of mutated down angst alley. Oops. There you go. I've warned you.

_**One** _

They’re the last ones in the Arrow cave well past midnight, when he suddenly decides he’s done enough training for one evening. He doesn’t know which initiates the act—whether it’s running out of tennis balls to hit or seeing the concentrated pout on her face as she reads. In about three seconds, he doesn’t care. The transition of taking off the quiver has already happened before he’s consciously made the decision.

There’s a hazy fluttering in his chest as he hesitantly approaches her desk. It’s not like he’s never touched her before. But on occasion he still has to remind himself that he’s  _allowed_ to hold her in other ways than before. Because she’s so engrossed in her computers, he starts gently. “Hey.”

She nearly jumps out of her seat and spins in surprise. But then she offers him a tired smile and waits expectantly, tipping her head in that way he likes best.

While he doesn’t really need to ask for permission, he does anyway. He extends his hand, palm up, lingering just outside her personal space.  _Do you trust me? Do you want me?_ his open hand beckons. All the things he plans to say to her stop in his throat, because she’s already slipping her fingers in between his, fitting like the perfect key to a lock.

He relaxes instantly. This is what home feels like, the solace of comfort, the certainty in the small things, the simple act of existing in harmony. This is the right choice in a world of wrongs. This is as close to the sun as he’ll get without burning up.

He doesn’t really consider the act romantic as he gently tugs her out of her seat and leads her over to the small bed. He takes his backward steps slow and steady, watching the realization wash over face. No, romance is too small a word for this. All he knows is loving her is what he associates with life. Is it romantic to need air? Is it romantic to desire  _life_?

And he knows this goes against the foundry rules they’ve established, but he doesn’t want to wait. They’ve waited so long already, even though this is not their first time. He’s tired of wasting his precious opportunities with her. The fifteen minutes it would take to drive them to her apartment is far too long. That’s fifteen more minutes he could spend relearning every inch of her body.

And like the angel she is, where he leads she follows, and where she directs he goes. He’s not really sure who’s in charge of this relationship, and maybe that’s why it works so well. They are perfect equals. And he tells her that he loves her. And where words aren’t enough, his hands say through actions, in the little, honest ways she lets him love her, in the ways he’s finally let himself love her.

**_Two_ **

His first day taking his family’s company back has him nervous for some reason. Standing against the wall of the elevator, he surveys the backs of his old-new employees—threats, targets, no, just  _people_. And as though she can sense his unease, her fingertips begin dancing along the edges of his palm.

He turns to meet her warm eyes, and already he can feel himself calming. An easy smile pulls at the outer corners of his lips. He winks at her, playfully squeezing her hand. She has to bite her bottom lip to keep from laughing, and he very much enjoys watching the flaming red spread over her cheeks. And it’s working. His irrational restlessness fades thanks to her carefree attitude. 

As they step off the elevator, her pinky remains hooked around his for as long as possible, like a small promise that everything is going to be okay. Is hand-holding meant to be causal? He wouldn’t know. When has anything with them ever been casual?

_**Three** _

Her father’s sudden reappearance nearly knocks the wind out of her. Their brief bubble of bliss pops after a single phone call. 

He watches her now, conflicted, as she tries to steady herself with a series of deep breaths. While they’ve been planning this meet for days, she looks just as pale as she did the minute he first made contact. He stands parallel with her body; while he doesn’t want to hover, she hasn’t asked him to leave yet.

Finally, after another five minutes of severe silence, he utters their special word. “Hey.” And he notices how that one syllable relaxes her entire posture. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Yeah, I do.” She won’t look at him.

He shifts his weight to the other foot. “Alright. Well, if you need anything, I’m right outside.”

“Okay.” She nods a bit too enthusiastically to be genuine.

He’s about to kiss her cheek and give her space when she finally looks up at him. “Oliver?”

He raises a worried eyebrow. All the ways she says his name, this remains his least favorite. He can never reconcile the times of uncertainty in her gaze with the certainty of what he feels for her. He’s accepted that he’ll spend his life proving to her that they are the exception, not the rule.

“Stay. Please.”

He sighs, nodding once. She doesn’t need to say anything more, because he knows her fears so well they’ve redefined his own. He knows what she can never fully convey, because so often he’s the one lacking words that will do the demons justice.

Silently, he takes her trembling hand in his firm one, soothing her nerves one thumbstroke at a time. When she hesitates at the door, what else can he do but raise their woven hands and bow his head to kiss her fingers? And so they walk hand-in-hand to meet the man who first broke his love’s heart.

**_Four_ **

He nearly chokes on his drink as another chuckle overtakes him. He can feel himself turning redder with every anecdote John offers their guests. He pulls at his collar stubbornly, furious with his best man for having zero shame and furious with himself, because since when does Oliver Queen get embarrassed?

Soon enough, the laughter dies down as John’s speech turns somber. And he knows where this story is headed, so he leans back into the ivory satin chair, taking a moment to steal a glance at his new bride. He wants to watch her reaction more than he wants to relive the memory. Besides, she’s practically glowing tonight; or has she always been this radiant, and he’s just now paying attention?

“Sometimes love happens even when you’re not looking. I told Oliver once that love is about finding someone who’s already the right fit. And when he did, he’d be ready for her. Little did either of us know that at the time, he’d already met the right one.”

A small gasp escapes her parted lips. When he sees the first happy tear slide down her cheek, instinctively he reaches for her hand. He can’t stop himself from rubbing his thumb against her new ring. She looks at him with serene understanding, and in that look they exchange more than words will ever suffice, recementing a lifetime of vows. And he knows that this was never a question of  _if_ ; this was always a question of  _when_.

**_Five_ **

He finds her in the bathroom, pregnancy tests thrown askew across the floor. She’s curled herself into a ball on the rug, resembling a small being they want to make so desperately.

Slowly, he lowers himself to her level, gently scooping her up into his arms. As soon as he’s got her vertical and safely cocooned against his chest, she sobs. And he knows why. She feels safe enough to let it all out now.

“Shh. It’s okay. It’s okay,” he soothes her, kissing her forehead and combing his fingers through her hair. He pulls her closer still, as if it were possible to morph their bodies into one completely.

“It’s never going to happen, is it?” she croaks against his shoulder while his shirt soaks up her tears.

He doesn’t have a right answer for that. He thought he understood pain, and yet this helplessness trumps all the agony he’s endured over the years. This is sharp, searing razor cutting through him. If he could carry all the sorrow for her, he would in a heartbeat. 

“I’m not giving up,” he whispers, taking her hand in his, squeezing it tightly. It’s become their secondary communication, replacing what used to just be his hand on her shoulder. Now his fingers communicate with her fingers, an equal give and take where words and even their special eye language will not suffice.

_You’re not gonna lose me. I’m here._

At first her hand is limp in his, and that’s okay. He doesn’t need her to respond. He just needs to her to know that he’s here for her, in any way, in  _every_ way. This is what he wants—the good, the bad, and the ugly. He wants it all with her. 

Slowly, so subtle he almost misses it, she squeezes his hand back. Then it turns into a fierce iron grip, as her thin hand clings to him for support like she’s drowning and he’s her only lifeline. And he knows what that’s like. Only she’s got it completely backwards. Doesn’t she know that  _he_ is the ocean, and she is the shore?

The way her hand feels interlaced with his, each plane of his skin seamlessly meshing with hers, is the most natural act in the world. Like breathing, he finds the act subtly fulfilling. He knows what a privilege this is. So he’ll never let go until she asks him to. And how he prays she never asks him to.

 


	5. Kiss Away The Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Established Olicity.

 Based on [this gif](http://smoakmonster.tumblr.com/post/116682066801/he-means-it-to-be-quick-doesnt-he-always-but).

 

He means it to be quick. Doesn’t he always? But kissing Felicity is a sovereign addiction. It’s a habit he never wants to break. 

When her brow furrows in that adorable way it does when she’s deep in thought, and she launches into one of her rants about HIVE and her father and starts listing off worst-case scenarios, Oliver just gently pulls her close by the waist and leans in to kiss away the worry. He doesn’t like to see her upset. He likes his Felicity happy. 

It doesn’t take her long to respond, leaning into his touch, her body giving back with a kind of zeal that sends his blood racing. Ironically, she’s the one still learning not to fight times like these, learning to cherish the little moments, learning to take every precious second they’ve been given to just  _be._

His lips ask her a desperate question, eliciting a soft response. He feels the vibration inside his mouth more than he hears the moan. He relishes the lingering salty taste on her skin. 

They’ve always communicated without really needing words, and this has quickly become his favorite way, in treasuring her through natural touches, in cupping her smooth cheeks, in whispering promises he has every intention of keeping in her ear, in drawing her close even when the nightmare aftershocks ravage his mind. She never pulls away, so he’ll never push her away again.

“You okay?” he breathes raggedly, keeping his lips pressed against hers.

“Yes,” she says into his open mouth, her lip movement causing his to move with her, and then she kisses him again.

When they finally have to come up for air, reluctantly he draws back and says, “Let’s go home.”


	6. Their Happy Story

**_[prompt](http://opheliafics.tumblr.com/post/117777400803/do-you-ever-wonder-what-oliver-felicity-would-be): _ "Do you ever wonder what Oliver & Felicity would be like if they were ever given more than 24 hours of happiness with each other? Cause I do."**

 

It starts small, in the little things, in Sunday morning coffee runs and breakfast in bed and actually going to see a  _movie_  on Friday nights–honestly,  _when_ does the Starling City vigilante have time to go see a movie? But whenever Felicity recites his own hero speeches back to him, he just shakes his head and kisses her cheek, his tried-and-true method for effectively cutting short her babbles. 

Oliver assures her that the team can handle things for just a few hours. And it’s amazing how he can just turn the worry off. Just like that. Where has  _this_ Oliver Queen been all these years? 

Except it’s really hard to concentrate on the movie, with him constantly stroking her arm in soothing circles, pulling her close to snuggle against his chest, like he’s her personal pillow. (She didn’t even bother putting the armrest down, because she figured twenty minutes in she’d be halfway on his lap anyway. And she is, by the way, somewhere between 40 and 60% sitting on his lap, with one thin leg just casually draped over his tall, muscular physique. Meanwhile, his warm palm presses into her knee, like she’s his personal comfort blanket; and she runs her fingers over his shirt, re-familiarizing herself with the pattern of his scars beneath the fabric. When she sighs contentedly, he gives her a look that ignites a fire within her, at once pouring itching lava into her belly, and yet also heating those tiny, unknown places within her heart, welding anxious cracks together. The sensation is soothing. Thank goodness they had the foresight to sit in the back row of the theater.)

She doesn’t remember exactly when their personal version of brainwashing began. Well,  _brainwashing_  is a strong word. It’s more like reprogramming his memories. Rebooting his system (okay, so they do  _that_  too, and it’s amazing how every night with Oliver is like a dream; better than a dream). You’d think they’d be sick of one another by now. But no, mornings are new adventures with him, as his partner in all things. He keeps surprising her, and little by little she notices how his smiles come easier, the laughs last longer, the iron weight of guilt gets lighter.

On certain birthdays, they visit the graves of Robert Queen, Moira, Tommy, Sara–the list of loved ones he holds himself most responsible for losing. Felicity always brings flowers, and each time Oliver tells her a new tale, a new fond memory he’s had tucked away for ages. Some stories are shorter than others, but Felicity always listens, with her arms wrapped around one of his in a secure cocoon, the gentle posture telling him all that she surprisingly has no words to adequately express: acceptance, forgiveness, hope. And when he kisses her temple and tucks her body in closely, she knows it’s time to leave the world of the dead and go back to the land of the living. With every graveyard visit, it gets easier, to say goodbye and not dwell on the past, not with his present and future standing beside him, not with  _life_  at his fingertips. 

So they continue to learn, harnessing the good out of the bad, using memorials as instigators of peace. Not only do they have the privilege of being each other’s happy story, they get to  _write_  and rewrite the autobiography as they see fit. It is their new crusade: to honor the dead by fighting  _and_ by living a full life. Together.


	7. Snuggling In Bed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Established Olicity.

Based on [this photo](http://smoakmonster.tumblr.com/post/111355675246/olicity-i-believe-in-you-im-just-gonna-leave).

 

Sleepily, she snuggles closer, her small head fitting into the nook of his shoulder like the puzzle piece he never knew was missing. He savors the feel of those gentle, swollen lips pressing against his collarbone. He treasures every expanse and contraction of her chest pushing against the planes of his skin, every flutter of air tickling him a singular gift. He knows each golden strand that falls and brushes him is one hair more than he deserves to touch. 

When his name escapes her lips in a puffy breath, he smiles deeply, leaning in to kiss her forehead. He starts at the sudden impact of frigid toes between his feet, but then he just chuckles into her hair. There’s a strange stirring within him at how nice it feels to be the one sought for warmth for once. And even as her fingers unconsciously dance over the jagged scar that almost took him away from her forever, he smiles, because he came home. And then, at last, he came home for good. And so he keeps returning to her every night, intact, always a silent, steady promise that he’s here to stay.

He stops her grazing fingers with his own, pressing the palm of his hand to the back of hers. He keeps them there for a second, before sliding their hands up his chest to rest above his beating heart. She’ll never admit it, but he knows she likes to feel his pulse, to make sure this isn’t a dream when she wakes. Sometimes, he hardly knows himself. His calloused thumb runs circles over the veins on her hand. She said once that her hands are boring compared to his, but he disagrees. It is  _because_ her smooth, unblemished skin is so unlike his own that he finds it fascinating.

When the alarm beeps, she groans, and he quickly pecks her forehead again before reaching over her to shut the buzzer off. 

“Five more mints…” she mumbles against his skin, fidgeting closer still, seemingly trying to mold her petite body to his completely. 

“Felicity, that’s what you said five minutes ago,” he whispers. “Aren’t we still in the crime fighting business?”

She pouts. “No days off for heroes?” 

“No.” And he can’t resist kissing her pursed lips, eliciting a soft moan from her. He readily cherishes the moment, still in awe at how easily she relaxes with him. He wants to ensure she stays that way, that no matter what new chaos life inflicts upon them, that  _this_ , what they have here, never spoils. He decided a long time ago to dedicate himself to learning and relearning what makes Felicity happy. And yet, he doesn’t think there will ever come a day when he isn’t shocked to be part of that equation. 

Finally, like Sleeping Beauty, her eyes flutter a few times before popping open; he sees the deep compassion and impossible trust behind those blue eyes mirroring his own. 

“Morning, Sunshine,” he says, feeling himself beaming at her as his fingers sift through her hair. 

“Morning,” she grins back. “Oh wow, you’re really warm. I mean, you’re always warm—I mean hot—I mean warm.” Her eyes snap shut as she shakes her head. Not even up two minutes and she’s already flustered and blushing and…very much like  _his_  Felicity. 

“I’m just going to stop talking _…_ noooww,” she yawns _._

"Hm. That would be my preference,” he says before giving her a proper good morning kiss. 


	8. Left Behind: A Poem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity's POV based on 3x10.

A sick memento stained red

Attests to sacrifice askew;

Despite alarming, mounting evidence, 

Can a serpent’s testimony be true?

 

She swallows bile at the word “dead,”

Her skin tingling with deja vu;

Her mind’s drowning in another circumstance

And this time, the blade slices through her, too.

 

Every word she’d left unsaid,

Every touch once thought taboo– 

Forgetting dangled maybes, she only knows two things,

And one is “Oliver, I love you.”


	9. ...And I Say Hello

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spec Fic Reunion for 3x23

Based on [this gif](http://smoakmonster.tumblr.com/post/118473015101/the-air-hums-between-them-like-the-eerie).

 

The air hums between them, like the eerie stillness of a tornado aftermath. Though his facade has officially fallen, he has yet to flinch from his rigid military stance, arms still braced behind his back, ready for war. They’ve come all this way only to be trapped by a few feet of separation. It may as well be a gulf.

He keeps his head down, bowed in a kind of shame that prickles her heart, so she studies his buzzed head and serene expression; her eyes roam down, spotting the arrowhead draped over his chest, so close and still so far from his heart. The  _arrow_ is not the lifeblood of the man before her. No, she knows that Oliver Queen is alive beneath that fortress of solitude.

All the air gets sucked out of her lungs when his desperate eyes finally lift to meet hers. The atmosphere crackles, and weary guilt wafts off him, seeping through her pores as a wet blanket, splicing her nerve endings. She reads his prevalent apology in that pained way his eyebrows pull together. With reverent patience, he waits for her to make the first move, clearly expecting her verbal attack, clearly dreading her swift rejection.

It’s their life. It’s her choice. There is no choice to make.

She  _does_ want to be the woman that he loves, whether he’s in a suit or under a hood–green or black–she wants all of him. Just  _her_ Oliver. The honorable soldier who always returns home. The trusting friend who always listens. The good man who always loves with all of his  _soul_. No amount of psychological warfare can erode away these universal truths.

Acting on instinct, she invades his personal space, her fingers trailing up his arm as she rises on her tiptoes. Gently, she touches his lips to soothe away the month-long ache between them. She starts when a tear drops onto her cheek, and then just smiles against his lips as she closes the small gap.  _I can’t lose you. I won’t._

With expectant fervor and tender certainty, he kisses her back, chasing freedom, drinking from her as though she’s an oasis.  _You’re not gonna lose me. I love you._

And it’s all the vows they’ll ever really need to exchange. When they finally break away, he rests his forehead against hers, lingering still to prolong their precious contact. He sighs with relief, relishing the simple peace of absolution.

“I missed you,” she whispers.

Without hesitation, intimate hands caress the tension from her shoulders, drawing her body closer. “You were with me the whole time.” It’s  _his_ voice alright, his warm breath tickling her neck, making her skin come alive.

They’re standing on a foreign precipice: he trembles with leftover terror from his fall, and she retains her fear of heights. Except this is the  _good_ kind of scary, like moving thousands of miles away from home, like falling in love with the man behind the mask. This time, as they fall, they fall together, into blissful new territory.  _At last_ , they are saying hello to each other.


	10. His Other Little Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver watching Felicity at the end of 2x14.

She’s partly high on drugs and currently looking elsewhere, but he smiles with genuine ease and wonders when she grew to be so lovely. It’s like he blinked and next to him wasn't just some IT expert but a  _woman_ , someone he could care for beyond the scope of saving the city.   

He draws close, because her humor is reprieve from the darkness and her presence is a fire, and he’s been afraid and cold for so long. He draws close, because around Felicity there is no other choice to make. 

And even as she’s stumbling through denial about being  _his girl,_ that’s the moment Oliver thinks she is most like the Felicity he knows–his hacker, his partner, his friend, his... _something_. His smile changes, deepening as he habitually reaches out to touch her face the same way he did the night he saved her. (He still doesn’t regret that decision. Already he knows it’s the one kill he will never look back and wish to undo. Because to undo that death means to undo  _this_  remarkable life before him. And that’s simply unthinkable.)

And the craziest part is she doesn’t even realize it. Doesn’t this genius know how invaluable she is to him? Not just to the team, to the Arrow, but to  _him_ , as one person is important to another person? 

He seeks to set her beautiful mind at ease, as he breathes their special word _hey_. She instantly relaxes into his open palm; her moaning  _mmh_ in response sounds like a purr, like his touch is actually  _soothing_  to her. (Did he ever imagine that large, violent hands once coated in blood from smashing a rock into a person’s skull would one day be a source of comfort to this petite and precious individual, who’s never killed anyone–not even tonight?)

_You will always be my girl, Felicity._

And suddenly he’s carrying one more secret. Except this one feels lighter, more hopeful, less like a secret and more like a buried treasure in his heart.


	11. Talk To Me, Felicity

The first night Oliver says the words, he almost loses her. In spite of his fervent promise to Dig and to himself to protect Felicity, she ends up with a bomb collar strapped around her neck, trembling and so severely  _un_ protected.

Still, her tenacity surprises him. She remains brave and loyal to the mission, almost hyperaware of protecting  _their_ lives, not just her own.  _Get away from me. If this thing blows…_ Her selflessness bleeds through her fears. She reminds him of himself that way, echoing his first days on that island, where he learned to withstand hell while standing up for strangers. And that scares him most of all. She shouldn’t have to be like him, resilient in the midst of horror.

**_Talk to me, Felicity. Talk to me._ **

The plea that escapes him is as much for his sake as it is for hers. He needs to know that she’s still breathing and not dwelling on worst-case scenarios; he needs her mind free, distracted from impending doom, focused on tracking down the man threatening her life. He needs her safe. 

In a way, Felicity saves herself that night. And as much as it pains Oliver to put her in danger, he’s starting to need her in general. He’s stronger with her than without her. He’s better with her, so he vows to be better for her.   

_You might have noticed that I talk a lot._

Oh, how he knows her already. Oliver knows her like a favorite book he keeps rereading and yet gaining some new truth with each perusal. Babbles become like music, and their banter develops like an invisible best friend, hinting at an easy, relaxed state between them. Sometimes he selfishly craves that gentle voice; her clear timbre has a way of drowning out the darkness.

It’s her stark silence that feeds the gnawing worry. In her silence, he knows something is wrong.

**_Talk to me, Felicity._ **

Another life-changing evening in a clock tower, the words leave him again in a desperate rush, because now  _he’s_  the one inwardly trembling with a new reality that he loves her and may lose her again. The man who hates him wants to destroy all that he loves. And suddenly, he’s right back where he started, only this time it’s his own heart wearing the bomb collar, and if this unthinkable thing blows…killing Slade will probably be the least awful thing he does. He’s not sure he knows who he is without her anymore.

**_Talk to me, Felicity. Tell me how to stop the enemy and save the city and come home to you._ **

**_Talk to me, Felicity. Tell me that I’m not alone, and you believe in me._ **

Four simple words he’s uttered a hundred times. Four words always there on the tip of his tongue, waiting in anticipation, changing in meaning as he changes.

“Talk to me, Felicity,” he breathes against her shoulder, pulling her back into his chest under the covers. He leans in to kiss that one small, sacred scar he cherishes dearly. In a beach house bedroom, there is no rush, no crime to stop, no life to save–just theirs. (They save each other even now, from overthinking into the abyss and just learning to relish the silence and not be afraid of it, taking peace at face value.)

His tone carries an undercurrent of a question, as he savors each delicious syllable. He may be living the dream, but there are moments of self-doubt when he feels unworthy of being with her. So he wants to know. 

**_Talk to me, Felicity. Tell me how to love you._ **

The distractions have evaporated, or perhaps merely reprioritized. She is both the journey and the destination. She is both the enigma and the answer. It’s a new list he’ll gladly spend his life crossing off.

She turns over to lie on her back and look up at him, her eyes dancing with amusement, and she tips her head at him in that special, favorite way of his. He gets to linger on her as long as he wants, and the best part is she lingers right back. And their natural smiles are the antithesis of fake, because there are no parts to play. And the quiet dreams they still keep to themselves are slowly getting louder, slowly growing more obvious. Because dreams can change, too. 

“You sure you’re not sick of me talking to myself?” she pouts playfully. 

And he chuckles, recalling that fateful day he first saw her, and she first drew an easy smile out of him–no, not the day they met, but that  _other_ day, that singular blip of golden sunshine during five years of gray.

He catches the way she studies him, her eyes narrowing with inquisition, but he just shakes his head, biting his cheek to keep from spilling out the one secret he doesn’t mind keeping to himself. It’s one of the few secrets he still has that doesn’t leave a rusty weight inside his gut.

“You know, one day you’re going to include me in this little personal inside joke of yours.”

“Absolutely,” he agrees with an easy grin before giving her a deep kiss, his new tested method for distracting her beautiful mind in the best way. “But not today,” he vows against her open lips, relishing the feel of her smile pressing into his own. He’ll never grow tired of making  _her_ smile. He’ll never cease being stunned that he has a  _one day_  to look forward to.

(Yes, one day, he’ll tell her the tale of a broken man who experienced a taste of heaven during five years of hell. But he’s saving that particular happy story for a future, special occasion, when he asks her a very different four word question.)

All his life he’s been running, escaping relationship commitments and hunting down enemies on the streets. Sometimes he wonders if he’s been chasing his own ghost.

And now? Is he running from home or is he running towards it? As he watches those sunlit curls dance in the wind, all he knows is the risk was worth it all in the end. If she belonged on that Lian Yu beach, she certainly belongs in every Porsche ride next to him. If home is where the heart is, then his home isn’t just with her. His home  _is_ her.


	12. Safe In Your Arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Imagine your OTP on a plane. Person B is practically deathly afraid of heights, while person A loves being up high. Before take off, A lets B snuggle up with them for the flight.

“You ready?” Oliver whispers warmly, squeezing her hand once with affection, which is quite the feat considering her hand has remained a tight trap entwined within his own for the last ten minutes.

“Mm-hmm,” she responds with tight lips, nodding her head too enthusiastically. The puffing out of her cheeks indicates she is anything but ready.

As the engines grow louder, he leans in closer. “Hey, talk to me.”

Felicity shakes her head, clearly trying to play her worry off like less of a big deal than it actually is. “You’d think after our summer away together, I’d be used to flying,” she mutters flippantly.

Oliver sighs, wondering why she feels the need to pretend with him. He knows this woman, and she knows him. And after everything they’ve been through, after everything they’ve just promised each other, she doesn’t have to endure this alone. She doesn’t have to keep even this phobia from him. He knows full well the difficulty of letting others share your burdens. But that’s the whole point of sharing your life with someone, isn’t it? To get through the hard times–no matter how little, no matter how life-shattering–because they are together.

And so when their pilot announces that they’re clear to take off, Oliver kisses her head before reaching to unhook her seatbelt and then his own. “Come here.”

“Hmm?” She raises her eyebrows at him, watching him with the wide-eyed, panicked look of a lost child. And as much as he swears he falls for her just a little bit deeper in this moment, he also falls back into old habits; because long before he loved her, his instinct has always been to protect her.

A part of him recognizes the problem with unbuckling their seatbelts, and this is obviously the first thing Felicity points out. “Oliver, we can’t–”

“We can,” he says firmly, pulling her onto his lap and cocooning her in his arms. “Felicity, just hold on to me tight.”

And she does, during the entire take-off and well into the flight, snuggling deeper into his embrace as the plane picks up speed.

“I’ve got you. You’re safe,” he breathes against her hairline. Meanwhile, her hand runs in methodical circles over his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat beneath, which he knows is a favorite form of comfort for her.

When they’re safely up 20,000 feet, the pilot lets them know they can move about their luxury jet cabin. But still Felicity lingers on his lap, one of her legs fitting in between his, with her head nestled against the nook of his shoulder.

“You okay?”

She nods, this time much more gently, so he knows it’s genuine. “I’m always okay with you. Thank you.”

All he can do is smile and kiss her soundly. It will never cease to amaze him that he brings her ease the same way that she gives him peace.

After several silent minutes, he notices she goes uncharacteristically still. When he looks back at her, he realizes she’s fallen asleep. And he cannot blame her. She’s had a long day. They both have.

Slowly, he reaches to the nearby end table to grab a blanket. Leaning the seat back ever so slightly, he drapes the cotton fabric over them, carefully laying it over her bare feet and tucking it under her chin. Instantly, he feels himself relax.

It’s not long before the beginnings of a sunrise peak out across the horizon. But Oliver barely notices the vibrant colors changing beyond the window seat. He’s far too enraptured by something–someone–else. As he feels himself drifting off to sleep as well, he spends the next few minutes studying his wife.

“Good morning, Mrs. Queen,” he says, smiling to himself at how nice that sounds, at how grateful he feels that they’ve finally made it here, that he gets to say these words to her every day for years to come. Maybe it’s the high altitude, but he’s never felt so free.

 


	13. From This Day On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Mr. Dary's speech at the end of the Pride & Prejudice 2005. Spoilers from 5x04.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this, because @scu11y22 asked, and I’m her fic fairy. 
> 
> Also, can you tell I watched [Sidekick](https://youtu.be/sZ_GfsUJdFo) yesterday? (If you haven't seen it, GO WATCH IT ON YOUTUBE.) The drama is so real in this one, but I promise you it has a happy ending :)

Felicity scrapped her knees as she fell to the wet pavement at his side, but she hardly noticed. The pain her legs was nothing compared to the oppressive pain in her chest, as she watched the man she loved lying in the middle of the deserted street, struggling just to catch a full breath. 

The moment she touched his bruised face, his eyes locked with his hers. Even behind the mask, he looked so vulnerable. For once, he let her see…he let her see everything, all the pain, all the fear. But there was something else. Even though he was so tired, so weary, she recognized immediately that quiet certainty, that calm familiarity he always carried in a single look. A look meant only for her. His eyes were already smiling before his lips turned upward.

“Felicity…” He tried to reach for her, but his hand didn’t get further than an inch off the pavement. 

With her free hand, she stopped his shaking movement, wrapping his gloved fingers up tightly within her own. “Shh shh. Hang on, okay. Don’t try to talk. John’s on his way–dammit, where is Quentin with that stupid van when we need it?”

Her heart was pounding in her chest, her breaths coming up short. She could feel herself hyperventilating, and yet he was the one…with all the blood… She gulped when she dared a glance at his stomach. Oh god. She couldn’t lose him. Not like this. Not when there was still so much left unsaid between them. Not when she still needed him. He had to live. She would make him live. 

“Felicity…”

“No, Oliver. Tell me after, alright?” she pleaded with him. “Tell me…” _Tell me when you’re safe._

He wasn’t listening to her, his body clearly going into shock. Slowly, his expression shifted into something almost dreamlike. Crap, did that mean something? Was she losing him already?   

“I…I haven’t changed,” he managed to gasp.

 _What?_ He wanted to talk about his flaws _now_? “No, Oliver, yes you have. You are a _good_  man. And you’re going to be fine. So just…just…”

But he was already shaking his head–it was so subtle, had anyone else been here they might have missed it. But not her. She knew him too well. She knew all of his little Oliver acts almost as well as her own. 

He startled her when he chuckled once, the sound coming out gargled and hoarse, with blood spilling over a warm smile that jarred her to her bones. He was smiling at her like he wasn’t dying, like they weren’t broken up, like…like he still loved her. “My… _feelings_ …haven’t changed,” he spoke between heavy breaths, and it was the clearest thing he’d uttered all night. 

She knew that he loved her. Deep down, she’d _always_ known that, in the paused looks they still exchanged, in the way he went out of his way to respect her wishes, in just…just being Oliver. Why did it take a near-death experience for him to finally declare something? Why had she let it take this long? And the fact that he was admitting all of this _now_ …ice slipped down her spine. He must have been worse off than he looked…and he looked pretty bad. 

She tried getting him to quiet down again, to save his strength, but bless him, he was determined to talk more now than he had all summer. “If you…still feel the same…tell me.”

God, this man was always so stubborn. He needed that same stubbornness to save him again. If he could survive a shipwreck and being stabbed and tossed off a cliff in the bitter cold, then he could survive anything. He was _Oliver,_ after all _._ More than that, he was her Oliver. 

Except he wasn’t, not really, not since they’d driven each other away; not since they’d tried moving on. And yet, over all these hard months, that’s all she’d managed to accomplish–trying. Because the truth was there was no moving on from him. As much as that thought terrified her, it also gave her peace. As long as he was in her life, she would be happy. She would. But if he left her _now_ , after everything they’d been through…she would not survive. Losing both Cooper and her father would be small pains compared to this. If breaking up with him had been one of the worst experiences of her life…oh god; Felicity _knew_  that her heart would never accept losing him in this way. She could not live in a world where Oliver Queen did not exist. 

She had to tell him. She opened her mouth to reassure him, but for once words poured out of him faster than they did her. “From the beginning, you…you captivated me. I love…love…love you…”

“I love you, too,” she interrupted, but he didn’t seem to mind. For a moment, his whole face seemed to light up; for a moment, she forgot where they were.

“Never want to lose you.” His voice was so strained, so soft, she had to lean in right next to his face to catch the words. 

“Never,” she echoed gently, earning a soft, sweet smile from him in return.

“Maybe it’s better…this way.” 

 _Better?_  How could his dying be _better_  for anyone? 

“I got to see you,” he said, almost casually, like that explained everything, like seeing him suffer wasn’t also tearing her up inside. “One last time…” Then his eyes began fluttering shut, as he struggled to stay awake.

“No no no no.” Felicity gripped his face fiercely, pulling him even closer, touching their foreheads together, her tears spilling onto his face as the hood slipped off his head. “Stay with me, Oliver. Stay with me.”

She kept her hand plastered over his heart for what felt like hours, never letting go, even as his breathing grew softer, even as red and blue lights flooded her vision. She was too distressed to notice the ambulance, too focused on Oliver to realize she also had to be lifted into the back of the vehicle. Her legs had given out, apparently.

The only thing she could remember was fighting the paramedic to stay close to him. John also had to physically restrain her when they rolled his eerily still form into the OR. 

Felicity held no recollection of the blurry time in between his surgery and seeing him again in the morning. She scarcely remembered breathing once until they finally brought him to the most secluded ICU room in the hospital, safe from public eyes. In a brief flurry of panic during the night, Felicity had suddenly realized they hadn’t just brought Oliver to the hospital; they’d brought T _he Green Arrow._ Felicity hadn’t once thought about protecting his identity. Her whole mind had been focused on saving him. But John had read the worry in her expression and had been quick to reassure that “it was taken care of.”

It was a miracle, she knew, seeing Oliver alive lying in a hospital bed, even hooked up to an array of machines helping keep his worn body steady. In the harsh light of day, and without the arrow suit, she realized even as he’d struggled to breathe, he’d still been downplaying the extent of his injuries. Watching him like this, so vulnerable…so broken… 

Her heart clenched as she gently squeezed his cold hands, planting herself in the chair right next to him. Technically, he wasn’t allowed any visitors. But she supposed the team had managed to take care of that as well. 

“Hey,” she whispered, reaching up to brush some invisible air out of his eyes.  “Your hands are cold,” she observed, suddenly unsure in the silence. Oddly, the idea of filling the hush with her usual chatter felt strange and empty, knowing he wouldn’t actually be able to hear her or respond in his very Oliver way.

 _Maybe he’s dreaming about you_.

Once Oliver had said that to her regarding Barry, when he’d been in his coma for all those months. 

“I find a guy who’s interested in me, and he ends up in a coma,” Felicity whispered, laughing once to herself at her own silly, misplaced joke. “Typical.” 

And even though it was impossible, she could’ve sworn she caught a faint lift in his lips. Maybe he could hear her, after all.

If so, then she really had to tell him. 

“It’s alright. You’re safe, Oliver. I’m here.” 

And then she kissed him, her lips brushing against torn yet warm,  _familiar_ skin. I was like coming home, like when he’d first kissed her in this very hospital all those years ago…like when he’d vowed _for better, for worse._

And Felicity made that same vow now, to herself, that she would never be parted from him from this day on.


	14. I Do Believe In Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU 5x09 flashback, in which present day Oliver Queen actually time-travels back for a short visit to see Felicity in 2012, before she became his partner, before he’s supposed to be in love with her.

STAR CITY, 2016

Oliver Queen stood stiffly before the computer called Gideon, watching as Nate Heywood hit a sequence of neon buttons that didn’t mean anything to him. Unknowingly, his thumb and index finger rubbed together anxiously at his side. The longer he waited, the more cracks began to form and spread like weeds through his chest, weakening his resolve.

“Are you sure this is the time you want to go to?” Nate stopped typing and glanced at him with concern.

Oliver swallowed once. No. He wasn’t sure at all.

When Nate first made the suggestion to take Oliver on a short trip anywhere in history he wanted to go, Oliver had refused outright on principle, abruptly leaving the room before Nate even had a chance to make his case a second time. Oliver recognized how dangerous the consequences of time-travel could be, if Barry’s life and the lives of his friends were any indication. And as much as he admired Sara and her team for what they were doing to help save the world, for Oliver, the risk seemed too big a burden to bear.

Besides, that wasn’t the reason he had come here, to use a machine like this for his own personal gain, to pretend to play God, even if it was just for a little while, as though his countless resurrections weren’t miraculous enough. He was here because The Legends had needed his input on stopping Malcolm Merlyn and Damien Darhk. And having provided as much information as he could, he should be returning home. To his own time.

Yet the longer he was allowed to stay aboard this ship, while the rest the team slept, the more the idea began to fester and grow...until the temptation seemed to consume him…. It took Oliver about a second--the span of a resting heartbeat--for him to settle on the time and place he ached to return to.

“Are you sure Sara and the others won’t mind us borrowing this...whatever this is for an hour?” Oliver asked.

Nate nodded. “Oh yeah. I mean, Sara already knows about my occasional one-man weekend voyages. Mostly I just take notes, maybe a few photos. Nothing that interferes directly with the events of the time. We have strict rules about messing with things beyond our reach.”

That’s what Oliver was afraid of. He’d known it would be too problematic to see his parents...to see Tommy again or even Laurel. He'd want to save them. And after what the aliens had already allowed him to see...he didn't need to endure something like that again. He’d already been given the Christmas gift of saying goodbye, and it was so much more than he deserved.

This time it would be real.

And Oliver found that what he craved was something much simpler...smaller, in a way, but no less significant. If he was going to do this, he had to do it right, to visit a time that was safe--back when _she_ still didn't know that he was the vigilante. Back when her life was easier, before he’d pulled her completely into his twisted crusade. Like a homeless, wounded animal, he’d gone to her only when he’d had nowhere else to turn, needing her mind, needing her discretion, needing her to drive him to his father’s factory in The Glades. But secretly always needing _her_.

It was wrong, but he still needed her. He had no right to seek her out for comfort, when he was the source of so much of her grief, especially these days...with Billy…. His winced, his heart squeezing with a pinch as the memory of her utter despair flooded his mind once more. It was another image that would likely haunt him all his days.

He had no right to crave her company in the past when he could no longer keep it in the present. He had no right to want her near him...and yet he could scarcely breathe for wanting.

“So,” Nate declared, interrupting Oliver from his thoughts. “All of history at your disposal and you pick...your hometown from four years ago?”

“Well, you told me to choose a time and a place that wouldn’t have significant repercussions on my life…”

“Yeah, but I thought you might choose something a little more...I don’t know, exciting. I mean, don’t you want to see how the pyramids were built or listen to Abraham Lincoln give the Gettysburg Address?”

Oliver sighed a small laugh.

Nate shook his head, not seeming to understand. “There is so much history out there, and you just want to go home.”

“Yep.” Oliver crossed his arms. “I’m sorry if I’m a disappointment.”

“No, it’s…it’s your life; it’s your choice, man. You ready?” Nate paused, waiting until Oliver firmly nodded once. “Star _ling_ City 2012, here we come.”

xxx

STARLING CITY, 2012

Everything at Queen Consolidated was exactly as he remembered.

It had been ages since he’d set foot in this building outside of strictly Arrow-related work or rescuing employees. Waltzing the halls of his family’s company was a bit like coming back from the island all over again. As wistful as it was to be transported back here, already, stepping back into these prodigal shoes seemed jarringly hollow. While everyone here knew his face, no one here really knew _him_ ; and it was sad to think that for so long he had _wanted_ things to remain this way, to work alone, to be always unknown and dwelling in the shadows.

He noticed how people kept their distance from him, watching him from afar with blatant curiosity but little more than that. He could feel the lack of respect hitting him in waves from among a sea of faces. But he wasn’t here to earn the approval of a few hundred employees. He still had years to earn the city’s trust, as both The Arrow and the mayor.

He followed his regular route to the IT department with ease. Some habits would never die. As soon as he spotted her old office door, his heart suddenly hammered against his chest in some strange combination of nerves and excitement. Oliver hesitated just outside her door, pausing to gauge how he ought to behave. He couldn’t do or say anything that would be supremely out-of-character for the foolish, manipulative guy he was four years ago. God, he was still a fool, but at least he knew himself and her better now.

He knew _her_. The Oliver of this time did not yet have the privilege of learning all the quiet quirks and hidden wisdom and natural affection that were wrapped up in the person known as Felicity Smoak. Even when he was lying through his teeth to her, she still helped him; she still saw the good in him, eons before he could dare to recognize it in himself.

He supposed that gave him a slight advantage this time around. Regardless, it was all the courage he needed get him to step into her familiar blue office. This simple act was like coming home. As he crossed the threshold, Oliver’s heart soared with anticipation...until it came crashing down into his stomach like a pile of bricks.

Her office was empty.

For one terrible moment, he didn’t see her, dreading that he'd chosen a wrong day.

Then, a vision of blonde and pink popped up from behind the desk, for once startling him. She hauled a few power cords with her as she took her seat, muttering a string of technical language to herself. She hadn’t noticed him yet.

Oliver smiled, relishing the experience of genuine ease he always felt her in presence like this…when she saw him as person as much as he saw her...when he still had the ability to watch her undetected. Nowadays, Felicity could always sense when he was in the room, so it was nearly impossible to surprise her. Being with her like this was oddly refreshing in a way.

Thankfully, it seemed he’d chosen a slow work day afternoon, as Felicity continued to fiddle with straightening the power cords. She still kept her hair gracefully parted down the center and in a low ponytail, wearing a buttoned pale pink blouse and looking every bit the part of an innocent IT girl. He noticed hints of her naturally darker hair begin to sprout at the roots of her hair. God, she was so beautiful. How had he _missed_ this so early on?

He took a step closer, the floor creaking just enough to finally alert her to his presence in her office.

Her head popped up, her eyes growing wide with confusion behind frames that fell at an angle across her perfect little freckled nose, skewing slightly to the right. She was a vision.

“Oh, Mr. Queen! I-I didn’t hear you come in.” Felicity dropped the power cord and nervously began straightening her desk. His heart clenched in a weird way as he watched her trying to organize all of three items that seemed out-of-place, trying to impress him, trying to distract him from the heavy blush rising on her cheeks.

Yet even in this dimly lit room, he noticed. He’d always noticed _that_. Old Oliver had been keenly aware of the fact that the blonde IT girl who never believed his lies but continued to help him anyway had a slight crush on him. It was something his ego could never seem to shake, and it made the rest of the women he passed in and out of her office every other week fade into the background.

“Did you knock? Because I distinctly remember us discussing that knocking should be a thing. Well, we didn’t so much as discuss it as I mentioned it…” When he didn’t interrupt her, Felicity nervously pushed her glasses up the ridge of her nose.

He foolishly searched for some trace of recognition behind her eyes, but she merely looked at him like he was the son of the CEO and not her partner in crime. She was all nicety and politeness, but she didn’t look at him like she loved him. And the relaxed distance between them was palpable.

Well, he could remedy a part of that at least. Oliver cleared his throat. “I do remember us discussing that you should call me Oliver. Please.”

"Right, sorry. Mister...Oliver.” He watched in rapt attention as that adorable little crinkle formed between her eyebrows. “What um...what can I do for you? That is, I assume that you’re here, because you need my help with...something?”

“Uh, yes,” he answered, suddenly aware he didn’t walk in here with any sort of plan. It seemed he was going to have to come up with something on the spot. Wouldn’t be the first time. To keep from fidgeting, Oliver slid his hands into his jacket pockets. He was still so bad at lying to her like this, that he didn’t exactly have to break character.

“I need to send someone a singing telegram,” he found himself saying, and _wow_ did his voice just crack?

“A singing telegram?” Felicity parroted, and he didn’t miss the quick though skeptical eyebrow raise.

“Mmm-hmm,” he nodded. “My friend loves them, and I thought that I would surprise her.”

“Her?”

He really had her attention now. Oliver blinked, just as surprised _that_ had slipped out, but there was no sense trying to undo it now.

“Just a friend,” he quickly assured Felicity. “But I don’t know where _her_ office buildings are. She works at the...AK Desmond Group,” he said, pulling that name out of deep recesses of his memory somewhere, hoping that his words didn’t sound like a question.

She was already typing before he'd finished speaking, totally unaware of the slight hitch in his voice. Oliver sighed deeply as he watched her work, still utterly enraptured by her skills. He had forgotten it used to be like this, how manipulative he could be, how much he preyed upon her natural decency, how much distance there was between them and yet so much potential, so much brewing underneath the surface unsaid.

Felicity stopped typing. “They’re not on the internet, like at all. That’s really weird.”

“Super weird,” Oliver agreed, ignoring the slight alarm fluxing through his chest. He was fairly certain he’d seen or heard that name before somewhere…. It had to exist, or else this meeting was going to go a lot worse than he’d hoped.

Thankfully, Felicity Smoak was not one to give up so easily. “Alright well, lucky for you. There is the internet.” She motioned to one monitor before twisting in her chair to face him again, moving with such eccentric grace, that there was  really no other way to describe it other than to say it was very much _Felicity_.

“And then there is the _internet_ .” Her voice dropped a little as she emphasized the word. Her voice from another time and place suddenly played through his head. _I know it sounds like the same word. But it means something different in my head._

But he couldn’t dwell on that memory, because this Felicity before him was still talking.

“And these magic fingers can pull things out of it even Google can’t find--not that I believe in magic…”

If only she knew. In just a few years she would.

Oliver knew he was already smiling and had to physically restrain himself from giving into a laugh. But whatever his face was doing, Felicity did not seem to mind.

“Or that I have magic fingers.”

Oh, but he could attest in a court of law to the fact that she did. Beyond saving his life time and time again through her various computer-related capabilities, most especially, her hands had healed him. He still remembered with searing clarity those long, easy summer days lounging near the beach, with her hands gently, intimately touching each of his old scars, and yet looking at him in such a way to make him forget the scars were even there.

“Just, I’m really good at...I can uh…”

It was almost painful to stop her.

“Felicity,” he breathed her name, and he knew his voice conveyed far more intimacy than the two of them should share at this point. But he couldn’t help himself. He could never go back to saying her name the way he did before he loved her. That would be like learning how to live without taking food.

“Mmh?” She tipped her head at him in that endearing way of hers. He had to shut his eyes for a moment, because it was equally tempting for him to linger on the way she was biting her lip.

“Please,” he whispered, whether to her or to the universe to somehow let him stay a little bit longer, he wasn’t sure.

“Right. Uh…” She proceeded to type some more, and too soon she had what he said he needed. He blinked, and she was already scribbling down the address. No. This was going by too fast. Why couldn’t he think of something else to extend his stay?

Oliver folded his hands, trying to face the inevitable with as little hassle as possible.

And yet, just like everything else Felicity Smoak had ever done for him, she continued to accidentally intervene, interrupting his plans one innocent act at a time, graciously prolonging his stay in her clumsy Felicity way.

As Felicity ripped off the sheet of paper meant for him, the red pen she had been using went flying right at his legs, the tip of the pen brushing against his pants before hitting the ground. Oliver took a step back to survey where it had landed, and was grateful to have an excuse to look down so he could hide a brief smile before having to compose his features again.

“Just...I meant to put it there. Just leave it there,” Felicity stammered, holding out the paper for him.

He hesitated a fraction of second before taking it. And then, before he could stop himself--really, he’d secretly already decided that he was going to do this the moment the pen had fallen to the ground--Oliver lowered himself to the floor to pick up the pen. Oliver wrapped his fingers around the pen-- _their pen_ \--and for a moment, he could pretend that he felt the leftover warmth of her skin there on the plastic.

“I just…” she started, before he cleared his throat and quickly looked up at her from where he knelt before her, like a knight serving his queen. He’d do anything for her until his dying breath.

“Felicity.” As he held the pen up to her, he couldn’t keep the lightness out of his voice. He said her name like he was asking her a question...a question he already knew the answer to.

_Would you like to go to dinner with me?_

_Will you marry me?_

_Will you forgive me?_

Maybe he wanted it too much that he convinced himself it was real...but her smile was definitely there, faint yet growing. And her eyes seem to brighten a little, silently answering him with _yes_.

As much as he wanted to, Oliver knew he couldn’t stay on bended knee before her forever, silently begging the universe to let him keep this moment frozen, silently hoping to get another chance to ask her again someday…. The universe had already been kind enough to let him meet her, to let him love her, to let him cherish this stolen moment.

God, it would be so easy to stay, to start over, to watch her fall in love with him again and this time avoid all the mistakes he’d made the first time around. It was good he didn’t have the same powers Barry did. He would be far too tempted to live moments like this every day, the consequences be damned.

But just like that wonderful, terrible alien dream, Oliver knew this wasn’t real. This wasn’t his life anymore. It was wrong to keep pretending.

Reluctantly, he rose up. Still, he halted his movements, delaying the inevitable. Placing the pen back into her open hand, he waited until she was looking at him again. He always felt like the best version of himself when he stood in her presence and stared into her eyes.

And even though technically he hadn't made the vow to never lie to her again yet, and technically she only knew a fraction of who he was right now, Oliver found himself making the easy declaration anyway. “I do believe in magic.”

More than a confession, his words were a promise, a calling, a taste of what was to come for them.

_I believe in us, Felicity Smoak. And one day you will, too. And maybe one day, if I’m very lucky, I’ll get the chance to prove that again to you._

When he saw the questions already forming on her rounded, open lips, Oliver smiled at her. There she was again. His Felicity. His dear friend and companion, always so inquisitive. It was one of the many things he loved about her.

At that thought, a jarring stab of reality pierced through him. Oliver knew then that it was time to leave. He had already risked too much coming to her like this. If he remained any longer, he might just attempt something even more foolish, like kissing her or taking her back with him.

“Bye, Felicity. And thank you.”

_I’ll come back._

_Promise me._

As though his abruptness had woken her out of a spell, Felicity suddenly became flustered once more and attempted to push her glasses even further up the ridge of her sweet nose. “Of course. H-have a good day, Mister... _Oliver._ ”

He nodded to her once and then--though it took more willpower than he wanted to admit--Oliver turned around and left Queen Consolidated at about the same trudging pace he had entered. Even though his feet dragged like iron weights, his heart felt lighter, and he managed to make it back to the ship in half the time Nate had allotted him.

xxx

STAR CITY, 2018

The last of the fire crackled, and Felicity stirred on the east living room couch, waking with a start and lifting her head from the crook of his shoulder, where she had fallen asleep about an hour ago. Shivering in the winter night air, Felicity snuggled deeper under their shared fleece blanket, unconsciously pulling the fabric more tightly up to her chin.

“Hey, you alright?” Oliver soothed her by fervently rubbing her back a few times.

“Mmm...cold…” was all she managed to get out.

Oliver smiled and gently pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I can help with that.”

It didn’t matter how many fires he lit or how high he turned up the air, Felicity was always cold at night. But he considered it his privilege to make sure she stayed snug and warm and safe. Carefully, he wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing her even closer against his side. But Felicity wasn’t content to stay that way. Instead, she managed--even in her semi-conscious state--to crawl up over his leg and plant herself right in his lap, her fingers digging in his shirt for support the entire time.

Oliver chuckled as she finally settled down, tucking her head back into the crook of his shoulder.

“Thank you,” Felicity breathed against his neck, quiet enough that he wouldn’t have heard her if she hadn’t been so close.

“Always,” Oliver whispered back. He waited for her to respond, his splayed hand against her back moving in small, steady, calming circles.

When she was silent for a long time, Oliver kissed her head again and said mostly to himself, “I think it’s time for bed.”

“Nooo,” she groaned against his shirt. “We’re watching a movie.”

“Well, _I’m_ watching a movie. You’re stealing my blanket,” he teased and was rewarded with a pat on his chest that he was fairly sure was meant to be a hard smack.

“Ow,” he whispered against her temple.

“That did not hurt,” she grumbled.

“Well, it’s my body. I’ll tell you if it hurts or not.”

Oliver reached for the remote to turn off the TV, and then gingerly shifted Felicity's legs forward so he could then pick her up to carry her to bed. But before he could so much as touch her ankle…

“Oliver?”

Oliver stilled at the change in her voice; the way she said his name was deeper than usual and didn’t have the same playful tone as before. Something was wrong.

“Hmm?”

He brushed a few strands of hair out of her eyes, waiting for her to respond, knowing by her breathing that she hadn’t yet fallen back asleep.  

“Hey, talk to me. Was it Havenrock again?”

“No,” she answered immediately, shaking her head once. “No it was a good dream. You were in it.”

“Yeah? You want to tell me about it?”

“I do…”

As though sensing that whatever she had to say next was going to be important, Oliver leaned in a little bit closer to try to hear her, his ear almost touching her lips.

“I do believe...magic…”

Oliver frowned, pulling back just enough so he could look at her, as though seeing her sleeping form would somehow clarify what he’d just heard.

“Felicity, what…” Oliver paused. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a red pen lying innocently across a grocery shopping list, illuminated by the last of the dying flames.

Suddenly, with ringing certainty, Oliver knew exactly what she meant. His lips parted in shock, and his heart soared, as his hand dove underneath the blanket in search of hers, not at all surprised, and yet utterly content, to find her hand already nestled against his chest in a tight grip around his shirt. His fingers slowly danced over hers until he felt the ring, the final prove that she did indeed believe in magic. Believe in _them_.

Somehow, after everything, all the pain they’d caused each other, they’d finally worked their way back to one another. And now they both knew with glaring conviction that neither of them was running. They were both here to stay.

Even after all this time, Felicity had never brought up that day he had her Google the AK Desmond Group. Perhaps because for it hadn’t made a difference. It was just another day of Oliver Queen needing his then-trusty internet researcher. She would always remember that day, just as much as he would. Their memories were simply out-of-order.

And it was then that Oliver realized he had created his own small time paradox, one for just him and Felicity. That thought made him feel powerful and weak at the same time.

Oliver was suddenly grateful that the universe hadn’t granted his foolish wish to freeze time back in the darker days of 2012. Instead, by moving forward, he got to cherish and keep this priceless time today. He got to grow old alongside the women he loved. “Thank you,” he whispered, kissing the hand that carried his mother’s ring once as he nuzzled against the top of her head.

While the universe might not consider the short events that transpired on that afternoon a few years ago significant, to Oliver Queen, they were substantial, like water to a man trapped in a desert. Perhaps he’d needed to go back just once, to risk his own fate in order to seal it, to know that this was where he belonged. This time, this place, with her. This was home.

 


	15. Home is Where the Heart is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the night of his birthday, Oliver Queen gets a pretty wonderful surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on this prompt from Anon on tumblr:
> 
> I cannot stop day dreaming about Olivers bday party. It prob going to be at the loft. Of course everyone else will leave first, 'giving them the room. When he finally goes to leave I NEED Felicity to get up on her tip toes and kiss him on the cheek whispering "Happy Birthday" and then I just want him to say fuck it and kiss her. REALLY kiss her. And scoop her up and go upstairs. And at some point, whisper the words, "I want to come home." Then I can die happy. Or just be dead. Whichever.

“NO!”

Felicity’s cry echoes across the expanse of the loft, her words bouncing off its high ceilings, sending all party guests into an unprecedented silence.

Oliver stills, every fiber in his body already tightening, already on edge, ready to pounce to protect her if need be– He relaxes a little when he realizes Felicity is not, in fact, reacting to any sort of danger. Instead, she stares with wide, horrified eyes at the knife he’s still gripping, hovering over the direct center of the cake. The cake he was just instructed to cut himself. The cake covered in exactly 32 little plastic arrows, all pointing towards the center to form a giant O.

Yet he knows that look means trouble of a different sort…a Felicity-sized and always important portion of concern.

“What’s wrong?”

Oliver quickly makes eye contact with the rest of the group, just in case anyone’s picked up on something he’s missed. But everyone appears just as confused as he is by Felicity’s new state of peril.

Felicity visibly swallows as she slowly tiptoes towards him. She licks her lips once, hesitating before meeting his gaze; and he can practically see the wheels spinning behind her eyes, as she calms herself down and tries to explain.

“I just mean…you should have the corner piece, you know? Because it has more frosting. You like frosting, right? Everyone loves frosting.”

“Felicity…” He has no idea what she’s hiding, but he can tell something’s _off_.

“You know what? I’ll just cut the cake. I mean, you already do so much, the least I can do is cut you a piece of cake.” She’s taking the knife from him and already cutting off a corner piece, before he can even try to stop her, all the while muttering something to herself. He leans in a bit to try to hear, but Curtis and Quentin have resumed their conversation across the table, so all he catches is something along the lines of “ _What was I thinking_ …”

God, if only he knew. He’s spent years learning to understand what Felicity Smoak says, let alone trying to make sense of what could possibly be going on inside that beautiful head of hers.

“There. That is _your_ piece.”

Oliver eyes the plate skeptically, still unsure why _this_ particular piece should belong to him above all the others. “This isn’t going to knock me out, is it?” he remarks.

He’s rewarded with a teasing smirk in return, one of his favorites. “Don’t worry, Mr. Masterchef. I didn’t even make it. I mean, how do you even bake for the designated baker in the group?”

He shoots her a look. “I’m not a baker, Felicity.”

That perfect little crinkle starts to form between her eyebrows, and she pouts her lips just a little, making her appear…so incredibly appealing right now. “Umm…I seem to recall one or two chocolate soufflés that _strongly_ suggest otherwise.”

He smiles, remembering fondly one particular dinner that involved soufflé for dessert…and how differently that night could have gone if…

“Thank you,” he says, accepting the plate from her as though she were handing over her heart.

He hesitates before taking a small bite, trying not to focus too much on the fact that she’s blatantly staring at him as he eats.

“So…what do you think?” Felicity asks.

“Hmm. It’s good,” he answers truthfully, his mouth still half-full.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Felicity, what…?”

“So you’re saying you _like_ what is  _in_ the cake?”

He pauses in his chewing to study her, trying to make sense of the question in her eyes.

“Yeah, it was great.”

“And that’s it?”

“I mean, it might be a little dry in the middle, but the chocolate tastes pretty good.”

“What?”

He frowns at her tone, somewhere between offended and worried.

Suddenly, she invades his space again, grabbing the fork from his hand, and unabashedly proceeds to rake the small metallic instrument through the cake.

“Felicity–”

“Oh no,” she breathes. He watches, slightly stunned, as her head quickly pops up, and her look bounces across the room before landing on Quentin Lance, who, heaven forbid, decides to begin cutting the _other_ corner of the cake.  

“Quentin!”

Oliver is reluctant to let her go, relishing the close, easy warmth that only Felicity can provide him, something he hasn’t experienced in ages. Yet he has little choice in the matter, since Felicity darts around the dining room table with surprising speed and makes a beeline straight to Lance.

“Can I ask you something regarding SCPD policy?”

“Well, that’s not really my expertise anymore Felicity–”

But she’s already yanking at the older man’s suit, pulling him away from the group and, Oliver notices, distinctly out of earshot. Oliver chuckles to himself, as he watches Felicity play hostess some more in that vibrant red dress of hers. And once again, since he walked back into this place that used be home earlier tonight, Oliver cannot shake the feeling that something else is going on…not just regarding Chase, but regarding _them_. What else is Felicity Smoak planning?  

xxx

It’s almost midnight by the time the last of the birthday party crowd–John, Lyla and Thea–shuffles out the loft front door, leaving the two of them alone to fill the space that suddenly feels ten times bigger…and somehow safer. Out of some deep, calming habit, Oliver instinctively fills the silence by picking up the remaining dishes off the dining room table and moving them to the kitchen sink.

“Oh, Oliver, you don’t have to do that!” Felicity interjects. “It’s your party.”

He just softly shakes his head. “I don’t mind.”

As though moving a small stack of plates is a hassle or belittling act. Before the island, a much younger and much more selfish version of himself might have thought so, but not today. Not tonight. In truth, he feels privileged to find any easy excuse just to spend a few minutes more with in her company, to kickstart his new year with the woman he loves at his side. He’s been itching to be alone with her all night, to follow up on their recent reconciliation via a bunker lockdown.

_“You should kick everyone out of here, so I can ravage you,”_ Felicity had teased earlier when they had managed to briefly talk alone. She’d abruptly shaken her head then, when she’d realized what she’d said–or mis-said. _“I meant ravish. That’s not better.”_

Though, in truth, Oliver has missed those kinds of moment between them, moments when Felicity truly lets her guard down, reminiscent of a simpler, perhaps kinder time. When she’d asked him to come over tonight, he’d been aching to know if that was a sign that maybe they’re back on the same page again, hesitant but longing, wanting to start over, to give this– _them_ –another chance. Even now, he dares to hope that the easy, friendly, familiar manner they’ve maintained all night might still lead to something more in the future, something to live for.

It’s been awhile since the two of them have shared this particular space under strictly pleasant circumstances. The last time he was here…he was begging her not to risk her life, not even to protect him, and not unlike all the those times she’d asked him–not the Arrow but _him_ –to stay. Angry words and yearning gazes that will always haunt him.

“It’s the least I could do,” Oliver replies, making his way to the sink. “Thank you for…hosting this.”

Felicity just waves it off in that lovely way of hers, like effortlessly making him feel more at ease in a single night than he’s felt in _months_ is nothing. But it’s never nothing…not with her.

“Well, when John and Lyla said their place was a mess to the point that, and I quote–” She pauses to appropriately make the quotation marks with her hands, dropping her voice as deep as it’ll go in a poor but wonderfully funny impression of John. “‘ _Even Argus couldn’t have it ready in under a day’_ –and obviously we couldn’t have the party in the Arrow bunker, because…well, we work there. And that would just be awkward. And a little sad. Not that you living there is sad, I just…”

She clears her throat. “And besides, it’s only me here”–she starts, squinting her eyes–“Which you know, obviously. I’m just…I’m going to go pick up the glasses and….”

He doesn’t catch the rest, because she’s scurrying away, the punctuated tap-tap-tap of her heels is a familiar sound, filling up the empty space. And isn’t that just like Felicity Smoak–filling in all the nooks and cracks of his life with her personality. He smiles to himself, as he turns on the hot water and begins rinsing off uneaten cake crumbs. He’s almost finished with the second to last plate, when he feels a slight but somehow intimate tap at his shoulder.

He shuts off the water and turns to face her.

She’s wearing that secret smile again, her hands tucked behind her back. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Without looking away from her, he reaches for the nearest dish towel–his heart lifting strangely when his fingers find it in _exactly_ the same spot the towels were kept all those months ago while…while he was still living here.

He watches in quiet fascination as Felicity’s cheeks turn a slightly darker shade of pink. “I um…I have another surprise for you.”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure I can handle another surprise tonight.”

She laughs once. “It’s a good surprise. I promise.”

“Fine.”

“It seems I forgot to give you your present.” She’s grinning mischievously, and for some reason that expression kicks his heart into an even higher gear.

He frowns, glancing around the now empty loft. “Um, I thought the party was my present?”

She flashes him the _don’t-argue-with-me_ look, and he has to bite his lip to keep from chuckling out loud. “You’re allowed to have more than one, Oliver. Didn’t those parties at the Queen Mansion teach you anything?”

“I’m sorry. It’s been awhile since…” _Since the mansion. Since I’ve had a birthday party. Since I’ve had a reason to celebrate anything._

His heart freezes when she holds up a small black box.

He’s not sure why he should be terrified of whatever she could possibly have tucked in there, but without warning he suddenly struggles to catch a full breath. He _knows_ whatever is in that box holds something important. Because there was a time when the greatest present he could offer her was also tucked away in a little black box, just like this one.

And suddenly…he’s nervous. He can’t explain it, but somehow he’s pretty sure he knows what he’s going to find when he opens that little black box. He looks back up at her, tentatively, like he’s not sure whatever could be in such a small box could really be worth getting. But she just gives him a brief, reassuring smile.

He swallows. Is she ready for this? Are _they_ ready?

As the box rests in the palm of his hand, Oliver feels the weight of the small object grow heavier and heavier with each eternal second.

“Oliver? This is usually the part where you, you know, open your present. I mean, no pressure. Take your time–”

Without warning, he pops the lid. He frowns, partly out of confusion, and partly because…he can’t dare to hope that… He blinks, but when he opens his eyes again, sure enough, they reveal a small silver key still covered in a few chocolate flakes and a streak of green icing flickering against the dim kitchen lights.

He’s too overwhelmed that he can’t even look at her.

“It’s a key,” Felicity chimes brightly, like that explains everything. “I tried putting it in the cake earlier, but then I realized–choking hazard–so I just decided to give it to you the old fashioned way, which is why I didn’t have time to…wrap it… Oliver?”

It’s possible he’s stopped breathing.

He can see that it is a key, but he still doesn’t understand how this could be happening. It’s too good to be real. “What…?”

“And it’s more of a symbolic gift than anything, because obviously you’re more than capable of getting into this building without a door. But I figured you’d want to have it so…” She halts, misreading the shock on his face. “Unless…you don’t want to move back here? I-I realize it’s kind of sudden, but I just thought, with everything that happened in the bunker that night… Maybe you’d like to stay here…for awhile? If you want. No pressure. I can have the guest room ready in like a day.”

She laughs once and runs her fingers through her hair, a little nervously, a little unsure, clearly waiting on him to respond. But it’s like his brain can’t even process what is happening. He’s frozen.

In the silence, Felicity presses on. “You know what, you’re probably right. We should take some time to process before making any rash decisions–not that I consider this to be _rash_ per se. Though, if our relationship history is anything to go by… I mean, I did quit my job to run away with you–which, for the record, I do not regret–but now I’m asking you to move back in with me, and it’s all so sudden–”

He can’t even hear what she’s saying amidst the panic of her assigning words he did not say to his actions–or lack thereof–assuming the worst of him, when all he can focus on is that this seems too good to be true.

“We probably shouldn’t have a repeat like last time. Maybe we can just put a pause on the us thing and focus on _you_ , since it’s still your day, at least for another few minutes–”

“Felicity.” Simply saying her name centers him.

She moves to take the box from him, but at last his reflexes seem to be functioning again, because he snaps the lid shut and moves the box out of her reach.

She stills, meeting his eyes, her hands resting on his arms. She swallows at whatever look he’s sending her, making his desire blatantly clear to her, now that he seems to have found his voice again.

Suddenly, the tables have turned, and she’s gone still, safe for pushing her glasses up a little further up the ridge of her nose. She licks her lips, and he zeroes in on the movement.

He leans in a little closer, and she follows his lead easily.

“I don’t want to pause.” _Don’t ask me to say that I don’t love you._

“Oh.”

And suddenly he’s standing in the hallway of another old home, watching her with a heavy, confused heart, as he bares his soul for his enemies to trample and destroy. Only there’s no enemy waiting in the shadows to hurt her this time. There’s no one listening in on this conversation. It’s just the two of them…it’s finally just the two of them.

“I want to come home.” _I want to be with you._

And he can’t wait any longer.

It’s like a switch goes off. One moment, they’re a safe five or six inches apart, and the next, their arms are wrapped tight around each other. In the frenzy, he quickly pushes her back against the nearest pillar. He kisses her deeply, and he feels he could absolutely drown in her here and now and have no regrets. Oh, how he’s missed her. His whole body sings, aching for her, and he’s incessantly torn between needing to cherish her everywhere and also just hold her as close as possible for as long as possible. 

They slow down to a more gentle pace as the moments tick by, but they don’t stop touching–his hands running up and down her arms and the bare, perfect skin of her upper back; meanwhile, her hands are grazing his shoulders, her fingers threading the back of his neck and playing with the tips of his hair.

He likes them like this–silent, safe, where words aren’t necessary, where he can just rest in the security and steadfastness of loving her and being loved by her.

Suddenly, the kitchen microwave alarm goes off, startling them both. She gasps, twisting just enough in his arms to check the clock that’s just beyond his shoulder.

“What’s that?” He gasps, not bothering to turn around. He can’t look away from her yet.

“Midnight.” She gives him a small grin.

He sighs, leaning in just enough to press their foreheads together. His day is over, but somehow he feels like his life’s just begun anew.

Her smile changes, deepens, as she makes the first move again, rising up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. She whispers, “Happy birthday, Oliver.”

He can’t stop himself from reaching up to cup her smooth face in both hands, like he did in yet another hallway, when his life was at another crossroads, and he took the wrong path. It seems all they’ve been doing of late is living their lives in a hallway, always hovering by an unlocked door. Well, he’s done waiting. He’s done lingering.

So this time, when he kisses her, he says what he really should have said that night in the hospital, what he made a habit saying to her–and showing her–every day when he was living here. Now that he gets to do that again, he doesn’t want to waste any more time. His lips hover just over hears as he whispers, “I love you.”

He watches her eyes shine with tears, as she whispers back, “I love you, too.”

This kiss is different than the one from before. It’s slow but warm and intimate and building…. It’s more akin to the first one they shared the night they moved in here.

He starts when water splashes against his thumb. He breaks the kiss, pulling back to see that yes his Felicity is crying…tears of joy, relief, sorrow…some combination of everything. And he knows exactly what that’s like…to wrestle with a mixture of feelings that defy explanation, and how the hurt never really goes away. It’s always in there. You just learn how to carry it and keep moving forward.

But unlike so many other nights this past year, she doesn’t hide her hurt from him. They no longer have to dwell in the sadness alone. They can confront the darkness together…as they embrace the light together.

“Come on,” says Oliver. “Let’s go home.”

Felicity nods. Taking him by the hand and leading him upstairs, with his new/old key in his other hand and his heart safely in hers, she brings home. She always brings him home, the greatest and most priceless gift of all.


	16. Key to My Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on 6x03 spoilers. This post was written posthumously, since the photo below killed me obviously. 
> 
> This fic is basically the inverse of Chapter 15, which I find rather endearing.

 

* * *

  

“Hey.”

“Hey, stranger.”

“Sorry I haven’t come by sooner, I was…”

“Busy fending off a throng of reporters and being a full-time parent?”

“Yeah.” Oliver huffs a short laugh, stealing a shy glance at the ground, as all the weight of the day visibly slips from his shoulders. She likes him like this, more innocent and carefree, where it’s no longer Mayor Queen or the Green Arrow or more recently a worried Dad standing in front of her…it’s just  _him._ Just Oliver. Just her Oliver.

“I won’t hold it against you. Come on in.”

She holds the door open for him as he steps inside, his arm carefully dodging her shoulder, but that doesn’t stop a thousand goosebumps from breaking out over her skin in anticipation. As she shuts the front door, Felicity steals a quick glance of her own at his back because  _wow_. While she loves Suit Oliver in all of his various…well, suits, it has been  _ages_ since she’s seen Casual Oliver. And honestly, seeing him standing there in full-on casual black and that jacket that she swears is framing his jaw really well, looking so at ease in her apartment…what used to be  _their_ apartment…it’s bringing back a lot of old memories mixed with new, tingling hopes stirring in her stomach.

Oliver spins to regard her in return, wearing a strangely nervous look. It’s then that she notices the small box with a white bow in his hands. “I uh…I was gonna wait, but I just…” He sighs, pausing, watching her like he’s waiting for her to stop him. And when she doesn’t, he finally says, “I brought you something,” holding the box out to her.

“Oh. What’s this?” She takes the box from him, wanting to reach for his hand, too, but he pulls back before she can.

“It’s just a uh…a present.”

“I can see that. You know, it’s not my birthday for another several months,” she teases him with a smile.

He doesn’t quite smile back, but there’s a hint of mischief behind his eyes now. “I know. This is different.”

Felicity frowns at his serious voice, watching him cross his arms. Uh oh. She knows that move. He only does this when it’s something big, something important. “Okay.”

She hesitates, her fingers hovering over the lid, playing with the plastic bow. Her heart starts to hammer against the walls of her chest with a new ferocity, like it somehow already knows what’s inside.

Swallowing once, she finally lifts the lid and finds nestled on top of a cotton square…a silver key.

“It’s a key,” supplies Oliver, his voice sounding very far away and warped, like she’s suddenly trapped inside a fish bowl.

Felicity stares in awe at the little object shimmering in the dim lighting, calling out to her. Slowly, she picks up the key, feeling the cool, wonderful weight of her future pressed against her palm.

“I know we’ve talked about it, and you’ve met William, and he seems to really like you. And this doesn’t mean that you have to move out of your place or anything, I just think…”

His voice sounds much closer now, and she glances up to realize that he’s standing right in front of her, his hands finally reaching out to hold her shoulders, drawing her closer, drawing her home.

He licks his lips. “And if this is too fast then–”

“Oliver, are you sure?” 

He sighs again, only this time it’s a gentler sigh, a contented sigh, a hopeful sigh. His gaze grows intense yet familiar, and oh she’s missed that look most of all. Even after five months of taking things slow, after being engaged to this man once, she’s still getting used to him looking at her like this–like she’s the only thing in the entire world that he wants. She’ll never be used to it. She couldn’t look away from him even if she wanted to. And she doesn’t want to.

“I’m sure of one thing,” he says, his voice so deep it sends a warm feeling straight down her gut. “I love you, and I want us to be a family.  _All_ of us.”

“Me too.”

Trapping the key in a fist, Felicity reaches for Oliver just as he lowers his head down to her.  _Thank you_ ,she says through the kiss, her lips gently pressed against his, re-familiarizing herself with his taste. But Oliver changes the angle quickly, deepening the kiss, his hands coming up and around her, pulling her close, his fingers pressing deep into the muscles of her lower back.

Felicity feels herself losing focus, her grip around his neck loosening…. She fumbles in the haze but manages to set the little box down on the counter, freeing her other hand to join the one still tightly clasped behind his neck. Her fingers sweep into his hair brushing against his scalp.

Seconds seem to bleed into minutes, and she doesn’t know how long they stand there like that, holding each other, remembering and relearning and learning afresh what the other person feels like…

A loud clang startles her, and Oliver pulls back, breaking the kiss, though she doesn’t let him go too far.

Realizing she must have dropped the key, Felicity breathes against his open lips, “It’s fine. I’ll get it later.”

And then she kisses him again, openly, fiercely, desperately. This kiss is different than the one before, taking on a life of its own, like the one they shared in this very spot years ago, when they first moved in together. It feels right that they should find each other again in this way. Felicity clings to him, his body still so warm and solid and familiar. How is he always so warm?

After what feels like too brief a time, though, Oliver pulls back again, breathing heavily. He keeps his eyes closed, as he presses his forehead against hers. “Felicity,” he whispers. “Can I ask you a question?”

“If the question is can you stay the night, the answer is yes.”

He laughs, giving her a short and more chaste kiss. “Are you sure?”

She nods. 

“Besides,” Felicity nips his lips again. “I don’t expect to be staying here much in the future. We better make the most of it.”

 


	17. The World Is Quiet Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [this post](http://dust2dust34.tumblr.com/post/166610395434/oliver-queenstressing-outi-would-love-a-ficlet) from dust2dust34. 
> 
> Hope you like it, dear!

In the hearth of the bunker, Oliver sits in her favorite work chair, twisting in semicircles. Though, not twisting so much as…drifting. She tries to approach him quietly, but even on tiptoes her heels give her away. 

He shifts a little in the seat, though he doesn’t turn completely, as she comes to stand alongside him, resting a hand on his shoulder like he’s done for her so many times. She can feel the intense rigor of his body beneath her hand. His posture feigns an air of calmness but is really reigning back an avalanche of power.

Felicity takes to studying his solemn profile, the way he grips his lower lip between his fingers, the way his pensive gaze seems very far away, the way hard lines are etched into his forehead and worry pinches between his eyebrows. 

Oh, those eyebrows. So strong. So expressive. So stern.

No matter how often he tries to give it up, Oliver always seems to end up carrying the weight of the world on those gorgeously muscular shoulders of his. It’s the price of being a hero, she supposes. Still, he’s never alone in this. Whatever they face, they face together. The least she can do is try to ease the load.

Squeezing her legs in between his and the desk, Felicity shuffles around the chair, finally waking Oliver from whatever stupor he’d fallen into. Without a word, he gently pushes the chair back to make room for her, taking her arm and guiding her to sit down with him. After a few seconds of intricate maneuvering, Felicity finally settles into a comfortable position on his lap, draping an arm around his neck. 

He’s still silent when he finally looks up at her, but she can read all the weariness he tries so hard to keep tucked away from everyone else, everyone but her. With a soft smile, Felicity reaches up to run her fingers over his face, tracing each and every worry line, every new wrinkle he’s earned since becoming a father. She saves the eyebrows for last and the solid crease between them. 

Felicity savors the texture of his hair, as she smooths the bristles down in slow, easy strokes, over and over, hoping to wipe the stress off his face. When she pulls her hand back, his eyes are closed. And the crease is gone.

“Better?” she asks.

He opens his eyes, already looking more relaxed. “Much.” 

There’s not  _quite_  a smile–more like a hint of the  _beginnings_ of a smile–forming at the corner of his lips. And she’s unable to resist its pull, leaning down to give him a quick but heartfelt kiss.

“You want to tell me what’s going on? And don’t say–”

_“Nothing_.”

Felicity tips her head, leaning down so far her cheek almost hits his shoulder. “I thought we said we were never gonna lie to each other again.”

Oliver huffs a sigh, shaking his head, his lips forming a tight, wry line. “I’m that obvious, huh?”

“Well, maybe not to other people. Is this about William?” Out of habit,  Felicity starts running her fingers through his hair, knowing how much he likes it, how much it calms and steadies him. The act calms her, too, for some strange reason.

“In a way,” he says, avoiding her eyes and claiming her free hand with one of his own.

“He’s worried about you putting on the suit again.”

Oliver nods down at their recently intertwined hands, his thumb wrestling playfully with hers. “Speaking of, there’s a question I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

Felicity holds her breath.

“How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

Oliver’s eyes capture hers again. “Handle me going out in the field every night. You don’t ever seem…”

“Worried?” she supplies.

He does that half-nod-half-headshake thing, like he’s unsure about settling on only one emotion. 

Felicity swallows and decidedly avoids  _his_ eyes this time. “Well, like you, I’ve gotten really good at hiding what I’m feeling.”

She can feel the new distress radiating off him, pounding into her like waves.  Oliver’s never really expressed concern about her state of mind when he’s out in the field before. And now that he is…well, she’s promised to always be honest with him, too.

“I’m not saying I  _worry_  worry. I mean, I’ve seen you come home more times than not at this point. And now you have a team out there watching your back. But there have been the few  _occasions_ where I–”

Felicity stops herself, shutting her eyes as the haunting image of him leaving her to go face Ra’s Al Ghul flashes through her, shaking her to the core. Her grip on his hand tightens. “Even though I know you can handle yourself, sometimes it’s hard being stuck sitting behind a keyboard and watching this city’s worst try to hurt you,” she finishes in a quiet voice, finally daring to look at him again.

Oliver gives her a pained look in return.

“You remember the first night that I found out your secret?” she asks, scooting her body downward so she can rest her head on his shoulder. His arm wraps around her back, curling her body close and into his. 

“That was pretty memorable,” Oliver breathes in her ear, sending a warm shiver down her spine.

“Tell me about it. Blood stains never fully came out by the way.”

He chuckles.

“Seeing you lying there on that table for hours…that’s when I knew.”

“Knew what?” he asks.

“Knew that you meant more to me than just a friend.”

“Felicity–”

“But I learned something that night, too. About myself.” Felicity lifts her head back up to regard him, to stare into his soul with the same hope that he stares into hers, to make him understand. “I realized that I could… _manage_ caring about you and watching you do what you do every night.”

Felicity releases his hand so she can lay it on his chest, over his heart. “I love you, but it’s different for me, Oliver. I rely on you, just not in the same way William does. A kid needs his dad in ways that…that I don’t.”

Oliver nods. “So you’re saying you don’t think I should go back to being the Green Arrow?’

“I’m saying maybe a little more  _caution_  in the field now and then wouldn’t hurt. Maybe you could be a little less hands-on and a little more supervisory? But I think you should do what you think is best…for William and for the city…and for you.”

The hand she let go comes  back up and covers her own. “You mean for us.”

Felicity smiles. “You are a good person, Oliver. And William knows that. And  _we_ will get through this one day at a time.”

Oliver sighs. “I just wish that I…that I could be the normal father he needs me to be.”

“First of all, being normal is highly overrated. And second, Oliver, you are doing your best. You are making an effort to always be there for him when he needs you, which is more than I can say for  _my_ dad,” Felicity adds at the end, with maybe just a  _bit_ of scorn in her tone. “And it might take some time, but William will understand. He looks up to superheroes. Maybe one day he’ll be happy his dad is one, too.” 

“I’m not a superhero–”

She gives him the  _don’t argue with me_  look. “Umm, the fact that you manage to squeeze into those leather pants before the crime is over is a superpower in its own merit.” 

Oliver laughs,  _really_ laughs. A heavy, deep, resounding laugh, one that brings those adorably small wrinkles to the corners of his eyes, her favorite wrinkles. This laugh seems to go on for hours, echoes off the high ceilings of their makeshift home and echoing inside her heart. 

“Thank you,” he finally says.

“For what?”

“For not being normal. For being you.”

And when he kisses her again, Felicity feels nothing of the remnants of the tightly-coiled stress of earlier in his touch. All she feels is utter peace as he gives himself to her entirely, as she sinks deeper into his embrace. That’s the beautiful thing about Oliver. It might take some time, but once he lets go, he lets go completely. 


End file.
